Bleach: The Vandire Conspiracy
by Maderfole
Summary: The Winter War is over, but who are these strange newcomers in the Rukongai and what is their relation to a massacre commited there?  Bear witness to a broadened view of the Soul Society and the potential start of an epic conflict between West and East
1. Intro and Disclaimers

Hello all, my name is Maderfole and this isn't my first fanfiction, although it is my first foray into the world of Bleach. My previous fanfictions have all been in Gundam Seed, and if I do say so myself, I have quite a following over there, and also the three longest stories in the entire fandom and probably the entire world, at over 3 million words total across two completed stories and one that is only halfway done. With that e-peen stretched, and my credentials hopefully established in some small way, I'll move on to different and more germane topics, namely the general disclaimer type thing I do before all my stories. I write about war, about conflict on both individual and nationwide scales.

What does this mean? There will be death, violence, brutality, blood, gore and pain, for both original characters and most of our favorites and not so favorites from the anime and manga. People get killed and maimed and seriously messed up at times in my stories. It's sad, I know this. But it's also what war is. I have a fairly high tolerance for what sort of things I think Teens can handle in their reading... anyone old enough to fully apreciate Bleach and all its characters is old enough to not flinch from any topic I might bring up in my story, and if it bothers you, you can always just skim past it, that's the beauty of writing and reading, its much easier to look away from the stuff you don't like. If I find anything to be truly questionable, I'll put a Mature content warning in a chapter note at the start of the chapter, so keep a weather eye out.

Now of course I don't own anything canonical from Bleach, that should go without saying if I'm posting a story on this website. And unlike my Gundam Seed stuff, which I eventually plan to submit to Bandai for Expanded Universe style endorsement (like the Star Wars line of books), this fiction is purely for fun. Well, at least I say that now, who knows if I'll still be so nonchalant a million words or more down the line, right? I am rather fond of creating OCs, and there will be a large cast of them in this story, considering I am introducing a whole new faction into the storyline, heros and villians and everyone in between included. But again, I have some little experience with this sort of thing, and in my other stories, my OC's are probably the most popular characters, even over the usual canon main protagonists.

Whether that will hold true here, time will only tell. I would say that I get no benefits from writing and posting this story, but that would be lying, as I greatly enjoy entertaining others with this talent of mine and when I get reviews, especially the positive sort, it feels like I just won thirty bucks at the lotto. I don't hold back on chapters for want of reviews, but I do appreciate getting them all the same. I make it a policy to listen to my readers and incorporate their ideas into my storyline where possible, because I find that it makes the story as a whole so much better for everyone.

I write long chapters. Ten thousand words is my minimum for a posting chapter, and frequently I will get to more than double that in a exciting combat filled chapter or plot climax. I try to split my text up into more managable blocks, but don't always succeed, so please bear with me and let me know if things are getting too dense too often. Though English is my primary and only language, that doesn't mean I always use it perfectly, so there might be a mispelled word here and there, or a grammatical mistake. I apologize ahead of time, but again this is for FUN, not a profitable book, so bear with me when I say, a little roughness isn't entirely out of place, especially when it amounts to five or six incidents in 20,000 words, right? At some point in time, if this story becomes long enough, I will put in a character stats and terms explanation page, as a quick reference, since it can be a real pain remembering exactly what everyone is capable of and what each of my new terms from my new faction means if you have to look back a hundred thousand words to find the in-story definition.

Let's see, what else... ah, yes, pairings. While I don't know the Bleach universe anywhere close to as well as I know Gundam Seed, I have read the full manga, at least as far as its been translated into english and posted online at mangafox, and watched to about episode 280 of the anime. This story will be set post Winter War by a few years, and I'll be cutting out any of the new stuff about those new guys that Ichigo has been training with to regain his powers. Its taken him a few years of training with Urahara and others to get his powers back, and they're still not quite what they once were, but he's back about to the level he was at fighting Ulquoirra. Let me take a deep breath and then blather this all out. I think it will be Ichigo x Rukia, Orihime x Uryu, Toushiro x Momo (though perhaps with some x Karin as well, I can't make up my mind which of those I like more), Kisuke x Yourichi and... I realize there's more pairings in Bleach than can possibly be easily quantified and mapped out. Those are the main ones, though I have plans for Soi Fon as well, and who knows what I'll eventually come up with for others (I'm open to suggestions). I'll probably be listing Ichigo and Rukia as the "tag" characters for this story, but in reality I don't generally favor any characters as "main"... everyone I think important enough will get some time in the spotlight. This is a story about the Bleach Universe, not just Ichigo and Rukia, though of course they ARE major players in that universe.

I'm terrible with the honorifics, though I find them very informative and useful when reading, I just can't remember to force myself to write them in. I may try from time to time, but don't expect great consistency on it. I'll also be going with mostly english translations of various ranks and titles... so "soutaicho" will be Captain-General, then Captain, Vice-Captain, so forth and so on. I will of course be using the proper names and command words for Zanpukto, that should go without saying, and I'll do my best when it comes to Kidou and their incantations, though there may be just a few more people using unincanted spells than they normally might, just because its a pain to write that all out a lot. I use "" for things being said, _italics for thoughts,_ CAPS FOR EMPHASIS OR LOUD VOICES and occasional **bolding for different or weird voices (such as Hollow Ichigo).** There will be several scenes in a chapter, divided by a xxxx (since the site is REAL finicky about lines for some reason), with a bold tag beneath stating the time, date, and place of the particular scene, if its necessary and not obvious.

And now of course for the big reveal, the basic premise of this story you are about to read. I realize that Bleach is a creation of Japan and thus it is only logical for it to be Japan-centric in themes and setting, but still I can't help but find it odd that the Soul Society, a very eastern culture, is responsible for the entire balance of life and death not just for Japan (and mostly Karakura Town, or so it seems...) but the entire world. There just doesn't seem to be nearly enough Soul Reapers to go around, even if you were to only deploy one Soul Reaper to each county or province, there's no way you could have enough to cover the entire Living World, much less Soul Society itself, which is apparently the size of most of Asia or bigger. It is my postulation that the Soul Society/Shinigami are merely responsible for the souls of the Eastern Cultures of the Living World, pretty much Asia, though Russia is probably a mutually owned territory. I say that there must be other Soul Kingdoms that are responsible for similar duties in other sectors of the Living World... one for Africa and one for Europe and the America's, at the least. They exist in the same alternate dimension that Soul Society does, just at such extreme distance that each is all but mythological to the others.

It is in meeting the representatives of one of these other Soul Kingdoms, the Imperium Animi or "Spirit Empire", which is responsible for the soul balance of Europe and the Americas and thus has a decidedly western medieval culture to it (knights in shining armor and the Spanish Inquisition and all that jazz) that this story's premise is founded. What has drawn a party of envoys and representatives from such a faraway and frankly mythological place as the Far West of the Soul Dimension all the way to the territory of the Soul Society and Gotei 13? And will the representatives of such a different and strange culture be able to fit in with the ways and personalities of the Gotei 13 peacefully, or is the cultural gap too wide to peaceably cross? The Winter War is past, the greatest crisis in the millenia long history of the Gotei 13 has been conquered... but could even such a rebellion as what Aizen formented compare to the potential horrors of a full out spiritual war between the Far East and the Far West? Read and find out...

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Check out my forums for a list of OC's and basic terms I'll be using, as well as the opportunity to help me with some more story details to make the story better in the long run.


	2. Golden Days

Author Note: And here we go then... enjoy, though its mostly exposition rather than dialogue, as I set things up.

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**Living World, Japan, Karakura Town, Karakura Highschool, January 12th, 9:03 am**

It was only just barely past 9:00 am on a snowy and blustery day early in the new semester and already Ichigo Kurosaki was ready for the school day to be over with. This was nothing new or particularly strange for him to be feeling... if it wasn't required by law he wouldn't even be here in the first place, and even as things were, he took literally every opportunity he could to not be here. It wasn't the incessant, inane commentary from Asano that pissed him off, nor was it the giggling of Orihime and her friends as they discussed whatever the latest bit of gossip going around the school and the town was. It wasn't Ishida's smug aura of superiority, though that WAS annoying as hell since it wasn't like their grades were that dissimilar despite Ishida putting one hell of a lot more effort into schoolwork than Ichigo usually did. It wasn't even the infrequent but still not infrequent enough efforts by tough guys, both from their school and others nearby, to provoke Chad or even himself into schoolyard brawls. If anything, that was still somewhat relaxing, even if it was generally dreadfully dull. Kinda hard to get worked up about trouncing a bunch of sixteen and seventeen year old punks when you were used to duking it out with Arrancar or renegade Soul Reaper Captains.

Because that was what was really bothering him, life... regular life, the life he'd known before that fateful encounter with Rukia... just seemed so... boring nowadays. It wasn't like he was wishing to be back during the hectic and frightening days of the Winter War, much less the height of the conflict where that bastard Aizen and his goons had kidnapped Orihime and almost destroyed the entire world in way way or another. More than just one world actually, since if the Living World went kaput, it was fairly certain that nothing very good would happen to the Soul Society or any of the other dimensions related to it, though obviously no one actually knew what would happen, since thankfully it had never been quite allowed to occur. There had been some pretty close shaves at times though, Aizen just being the worst and most recent of them. But now Aizen was locked and buried in the deepest, darkest, most forgotten hole in all of Soul Society, or something like that anyway, and so everyone was free to get back to their regular day to day grind. He'd even been happy about that, because right after defeating Aizen, he'd lost all his powers, so it wasn't like he'd had anything else to do with his time.

However, despite the predictions of his father... honestly, why he trusted ANYTHING that guy said to be true, he didn't know... deploying Mugetsu hadn't drained him of all his powers permanently after all, and even only a few months after the formal end of the Winter War, he was back to seeing ghosts and hearing the chilling screams of Hollows in the distance at night. Those last things were especially troublesome, because at that point in time he had his perceptions back, but damned little in the way of abilities to actually defend himself, or more importantly, others, like his friends. Not that most of his friends had needed protection from him by that point in time... even his little sister, Karin, had more offensive spirtual power than he did and she used a freaking soccer ball to kill Hollows! What was that saying from their english literature class? "How the mighty have fallen?" Yeah, that was definitely him back then. Public Enemy number 1 as far as most Hollows were probably concerned, and as helpless to protect himself as a newborn baby... it would almost be better if he didn't have his perceptiosn, at least then he wouldn't have to see it coming!

But Zangetsu and his powers had always responded to his emotions, generally his anger and frustration at not having the power he needed in order to protect the people he cared about, and this proved to be no exception. Of course when Zangetsu had started talking to him again, Ichigo had first thought he was hallucinating or something... he did get smacked around the head fairly often after all, both in wrestling with that insane person who was supposedly his father and interacting with his friends... because his father had been very clear when teaching him how to attain Mugetsu that there was no going back after using it. In retrospect that actually didn't make much sense, given that Zangetsu was supposed to be a part of his soul after all, if he'd really completely used Zangetsu up there should have been bigger problems than just losing his powers... such as losing his life or memories or other important things. No one had ever given him a very clear explanation on just what your soul was and how it connected to your body or divided to become a Zanpukto, but it stood to reason that permanently burning out an entire section of it would not be good for you, in the same way as cutting off an entire healthy limb would not be good for you.

Of course, there hadn't really been too many other people around with the knowledge and expertise of these things to ask besides his father, unless he wanted to go to Urahara, and getting good, understandable advice out of Hat and Clogs was like trying to disarm a minefield with one hand tied behind your back and a blindfold on... you never knew what sort of traps you were going to stumble into and you might very well end up worse off than you were before you even asked. At least his father was SUPPOSEDLY invested in his wellbeing, though Isshin Kurosaki, it was hard to tell at times. Certainly his father had responded more seriously than was usually his norm when Ichigo had admitted that he was hearing Zangetsu's voice again, even if he hadn't quite managed to manifest his Zanpukto yet, forgoing breaking out into a wild, inane yell in favor of a slightly smug upturn of his lips and a knowning nod as he sipped at his morning coffee. Of course, no actual explanation had been forthcoming, not even when he'd put the old goat into a half nelson and almost drowned him in the kitchen sink, but Ichigio just couldn't shake the feeling that his dad was not only not surprised, but had actually been expecting this all along!

One of these days he really was gonna have to find a way to have a real talk with his dad about the whole Soul Reaper thing, because all this blundering around in the dark was really getting old. He was almost freaking 18 years old now, and he'd already saved the entire world, the entire universe even, at least once... surely he was mature enough to deal with whatever secrets the old man was hiding from him, right? Even if his father was an Ex-Shinigami and former Captain, it in no way really explained why Ichigo's own powers were, to put it mildly, so explosively potent! He'd accomplished in a matter of months what it took most Soul Reapers, even acknowledged geniuses like Toushiro Hitsugaya, decades or more to accomplish! He'd gone from no real combative powers to achieving Bankai in less half a year, even he could tell that this was NOT normal. And then, he'd deployed an attack that had not just defeated but wholly DOMINATED Aizen, something which even Gramps had singularly failed to do, which was supposed to render him powerless forever more, but only a few months later, here he was, about to get his Zanpukto back!

That had been more than a year ago, and while he still didn't feel that he was exactly back up to the razor's keen edge he'd had fighting against the Espada, frequent bouts of training in Urahara's underground lair, assisted off and on by Urahara, Yourichi, Tessai and even Shinji whenever the Vizard leader was in town had seen his powers return in leaps and bounds. Even his Vizard powers, and the negative version of himself that personified them in his inner world. He wasn't precisely happy to see that asshole back and trying to take over his body from within again, but all the same, he was a little bit glad. Things were getting back to normal again. Ichigo could not help but smile a slightly secret and goofy smile as he thought about what else "normal" meant for him, an expression that would have engendered knowing looks from his friends and an irritating outburst of joy from his father. Because there was another benefit to getting his powers and status as a Substitute Soul Reaper back.

Apparently Gramps had once more decreed that though Ichigo was by now a fully recognized Shinigami in all but name... since he wasn't dead yet despite his own best efforts... he still needed an official Shinigami presence in Karakura Town to keep watch over him and make sure he was upholding all the duties and ideals that went with his honorable position, etc, etc, yada, yada. Ichigo was glad he hadn't been there for that announcement... Gramps could really talk your ear... and most of that side of your face... off if he got going, since he was normally a man of few words. And it wasn't like anyone could just tell the Captain-General to put a sock in it either, certainly not even Kenpachi was that, well, crazy. But the ultimate result of this decree was that he once more had a minder from the Soul Society. Quite what sort of arm twisting and blackmail went on behind the scenes to get Rukia Kuchiki reassigned to him despite her brother's wishes, Ichigo did not know and did not WANT to know, though he did make a note to do something very nice for Captain Ukitake the next time they met, he was just glad to be reunited with her!

Of course Rukia, being Rukia, immediately slipped back into her old habits of mooching off him while simultaneously treating him like a servant and an idiot, but since that was normal for their relationship, Ichigo didn't mind, as long as she was with him, she could be as obnoxious as she wanted to be, he'd always forgive her. Sooner or later, though he was really, really starting to get a neurotic twitch in his eye whenever he was forced to buy her more Chappy paraphenelia and products, including an absolutely freaking hideous combination lamp and alarm clock that he desperately wanted to use for target practice for a Getsuga Tensho because of how many times it had woken him up at night while Rukia fiddled with figuring out the digital controls. Honestly, she could use a fricking cellphone just fine, how hard could a digital clock be? Her technical ineptitude aside, Rukia was slowly becoming more accustomed to the rigors and regulations that governed the Living World, which was several centuries ahead of the Soul Society, culturally speaking.

She still didn't see much point to highschool, and spent more time on the roof than even the worst delinquents, but thanks mostly to his own efforts to help her study, she was still managing to squeeze by in terms of grades. Not that failing out of school would be much more than a minor embarassment to her, it would mean that she wouldn't be able to be with him for the majority of each day, and that would violate some of the terms of her actual mission. And while being seen to fail even such a soft, cushy mission as this woould no doubt shame her in her brother's eyes to an unforgivable extent, given that she was only ehre because he had reluctantly given her the permission to do so, she wasn't so much concerned about that as being seperated from Ichigo. Quite exactly why, when or how it had come about, neither of them could say, but sometime in the aftermath of the Winter War and her reassignment to be his minder and tutor in the ways of Soul Reapers, both Rukia and Ichigo had realized that there was more to their relationship than just friendship and professional respect.

Perhaps both of them were merely blind to the obvious, certainly none of their friends, not even Orihime, had seemed surprised when they reluctantly, guiltily even, admitted that they had feelings for each other that went beyond the merely friendly. Orihime had been the one that Ichigo had been most worried about, as he hadn't been so much unaware of her crush on him as unsure as to what to do about it, since while she was a wonderful friend and a beautiful girl, he'd never really thought of her beyond such terms. If anything, she was too important to him to fit into what he felt was proper for a girlfriend, it wouldn't feel like a relationship of equals somehow. Not because he was so much stronger than her or anything, but just because they were so different in character and outlook, one of them would invariably have to sacrifice parts of what they liked to be in order to be with the other peacefully, and he didn't wish to do that nor did her wish her to do so either. Besides, she had Ishida, once he was finally able to man up and be honest about his own feelings for her, which Ichigo supposed he ought not to be the one to be throwing stones about, since he very much lived in a glass house there.

But though Orihime had at first seemed slightly sad, though she put on a good face, the behind the scenes asskicking that had finally gotten Uryu to stop being a pussy about things had resulted in her being quite distracted when the usually somber and reserved Quincy had asked her out on a date even before the end of the day when Ichigo and Rukia had announced that they were trying out this "date thing" as Rukia had said. The term "date" didn't really have the same connotations in Soul Society as it did in the Living world, due to cultural differences, as courting rituals, as they were still called, were often much more formalized in Soul Society, especially between people of Rukia's social rank. Even if she wasn't biologically a Kuchiki, she was still accounted as part of the family and thus had to deal with all the expectations and crap that went with being a member of one of the four primary Noble houses of Soul Society. Or at least she did while within the Soul Society... while in the Living World, she could adopt the saying of "when in Rome..." and do as the Living did.

Still, terminology aside, there was only so many ways to describe what young men and women with mutual feelings for each other did when they met up for private time together, and over the months, Ichigo and Rukia had experimented with most of them, tenatively at first, but with increasing confidence as they grew accustomed to a level of personal intimacy with each other. One would have been forgiven for thinking they were already fairly close, what with Rukia literally living at Ichigo's house and sleeping in his bedroom closet, but there was a difference between living together and living WITH each other. Of course, his family was being absolutely insufferable about it too, with Yuzu and his father seeming to compete for the best way to terminally embarass Ichigo in front of Rukia and Karin just throwing up her hands and kicking him in the back of the head whenever he said anything even slightly rude to Rukia, like he was supposed to just bend over and kiss the ground the Midget walked upon just because he liked her in a romantic sense.

Fortunately, Rukia didn't have that expectation, if anything she seemed somewhat flustered and flattered when he did go out of his way to be nice to her, which only invariably made him curse under his breath and wish he could smack Byakuya squarely in the adam's apple with a heavy stick, for giving Rukia such crippling self confidence and self worth issues while she was fostering in his household. She was over some parts of it, no longer did she blindly accept whatever Byakuya said to be right regardless of how she felt about it, but she still got a little teary eyed sometimes even when he was just treating her like anyone would treat their girlfriend whom they cared very much about, acting like he was going hugely far out of his way to be nice to her when she didn't deserve it. He'd tried explaining that she didn't always HAVE to do anything for him to be proud of her or want to do nice things for her, she just had to be Rukia, but she seemed to be slow to get it. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, and overcoming almost two hundred years of prior conditioning wouldn't happen in even a decade, though Ichigo was certainly going to try his best.

As for the actual relationship, well, they were doing their best not to rush into anything, despite the obnoxious and none too subtle prodding from his father... honestly what kind of idiot father would WANT his son to become a teenage father, Ichigo could not understand, it was like his father was raised in the middle ages or something! Well, that might actually be true... quite how old the old goat actually was, he'd never actually said, though given that he was good pals with Urahara and Yourichi from back in the day when they'd been part of Soul Society, and that had been easily over a century prior, Ichigo was willing to bet that his dad might very well have been born in a time when it was normal to be married at fourteen and have three sets of kids before you were twenty. Still, that didn't make it okay for him to try and pressure his son into acting the same way... in its way, sex and procreation was far more scary than any number of Arrancar's could ever be! Especially because it wasn't like he didn't WANT to do such things with Rukia, he was just afraid of the consequences, in more ways than one.

For example, what would happen if Rukia had to abandon her Gigai to fight a Hollow if she was pregnant, since that basically killed you, it just couldn't be good for a growing baby inside your body. That was even putting aside whether her Gigai COULD get pregnant, though Rukia had confirmed that Urahara had been, as per the norm, rather too good at copying the intricasies of the human biology in his creations and that she was still getting things like a period every month. It wasn't something he was planning on asking Hat and Clogs about, since Urahara and his dad were as thick as thieves and the last thing he needed was for either of them to get the idea that he was really worried about this, especially because he WAS really worried about this! And then of course there was one other little, tiny problem to be concerned about. A tiny problem named Byakuya Kuchiki, and more pressingly, Senbonzakura, his Zanpukto, which Ichigi did not doubt for an instant that Byakuya would hestitate to wield against him should Ichigo "compromise" his adopted sister's purity in such a gauche manner. While sex before marriage was an invention almost as old as sex itself, in all that time, it had never quite managed to become socially acceptable even as it was frantically practiced by each successive generation. There was no overriding biological reason for marriage after all, it was a purely cultural thing.

He had the sneaking supicion that explaining things like hormones and mutual consent even if they were technically underage... though if saving the goddamn universe from evil spirits didn't qualify a guy for bending a few rules now and again, what the hell did... to Byakuya would only last as long as it took for Byakuya to draw his sword and "Scatter..." and then he'd be fighting for his life, or at least his manhood. Which really wasn't very fair, since Byakuya had been young man once, according to Yourichi anyway, who was quite willing to say a big "fuck you" to all the rules of decorum when he took Hisana, Rukia's older sister, to be his wife, against the wishes of his family, but then again, since when could ANYTHING Byakuya had ever done to Ichigo and Rukia be called fair? And the problem was, he couldn't just fight back and take the prissy bastard down a notch either, because would never forgive him if he actually caused, god forbid, her precious Ni-Sama to be injured, not even for her sake! This was one of those damnable situations that force couldn't solve, which meant that he was probably going to get screwed... and not in the way he wanted to be.

Hell, the entire fact that he and Rukia were dating, had kissed and even shared a bed, platonically speaking, was still very much a secret from as many people as Ichigo could manage, including especially his old man, whom would be sure to brag about it to Hat and Clogs, who would then gleefully pass it on to Yourichi, and she would almost certainly tell Soi Fon, and Soi Fon would DELIGHT in informing Byakuya, probably with some creative embellishing of the tale, simply because she had never really liked Ichigo anyway! Of course, they weren't going to be able to keep it a secret forever, if nothing else they WERE escalating towards rather more than just touching and kissing in these past few months and Ichigo really hated keeping secrets from his friends, because it invariably came back to bite him in the ass somehow. Worst of all, it was more or less entirely HIS problem, since Rukia, despite being close to ten times his age, was, for lack of a better word, an innocent when it came to matters like this. If he told her it was normal for people to start having sex on the third date, she'd totally go along with it, because she didn't know any better, so the only one holding them back from becoming fully intimate was Ichigo himself... and he was the one that WANTED the intimacy, because goddamn it, he was 17 and male and he loved her, alright!

Of course that Rukia was totally open to the idea of taking things to the next level didn't help matters either. If anything, she was aggravatingly curious about it, since they didn't tend to teach things like sex ed to young Shinigami, who were either left to figure it out on their own if they were of common classes, or instructed in a very rigid setting shortly before getting married if they were noble class, like Rukia. And with Byakuya watching over her, she hadn't gotten within spitting distance of a boyfriend before her encounter with Ichigo, so it wasn't like she'd had any practice with such relationships in the past. Her exposure to modern TV and the internet hadn't helped matters, especially trashy action movies, which she liked, where the hero always had sex with the leading actress at some point in time during the plot, even though they barely knew each other. People complained about the youth being corrupted by the decadence of the media, but in Rukia's case Ichigo was willing to accept that they might have a point. He truly was caught in an entirely new form of hell, apparently tailored just to fuck with him now that Aizen was defeated... he wanted to, she wanted to, but he couldn't let it happen because much, much worse things would happen in consequence, even more than the pleasure of being together in that way could compensate for!

The gentle slap of a dry erase board eraser against his forehead snapped Ichigo out of his contemplations of the past and his current situation, just as he was beginning to seque into the dread notion that Yuzu and Karin were rapidly approaching the age where they too would begin to show interest in boys and that he was going to have to deal with keeping them safe from the predations of potential boyfriends for at least the next few years, if not much longer... they were his baby sisters after all, it was not only okay but actually EXPECTED for him to be irrational about them that way. The heretical thought that perhaps this excused some of Byakuya's own behavior tried to sneak in, but that was when the eraser had smacked him and he blinked and flushed as he realized he'd been asked a question by the teacher and had just ignored it. Oh well, it wasn't like he couldn't pass this class in his sleep anyway...

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**Soul Society, Sereitei, Kuchiki Family Estate, January 12th, 9:05 am**

It was the simplest pleasures in life that Byakuya Kuchiki, leader of that most noble and prestigious clan, found most to his taste. A single cup of well prepared, piping hot tea was the perfect counterpoint to the brisk morning air, graced with just a hint of the snow that was likely to come in the next few days. In the peace and quiet of his own private gardens, which adjoined his sleeping quarters and kept his chambers slightly seperate from the rest of the estate, even as he was surrounded by the main house on all sides at a respectful distance, Byakuya could greet each morning in his own manner, without undue fear of outside interruption or annoyance. Even the hyperactive nuisance that was Vice Captain Kusajishi of 11th squad knew better than to disturb him in his private rooms without express invitation. Bad enough that he had to deal with her invading the grounds of his estate and pestering him for the most inane of things at random intervals, disrupting the very important bueracratic records keeping work that was the Kuchiki family's sacred duty, he was NOT going to deal with her tromping around the places that had always been his and Hisana's alone.

Even such a passing thought of his late wife was enough to make Byakuya pang internally, though not a hint of it would ever be allowed to breach the exterior mask that he had schooled himself into adopting in the wake of her passing. The consolations, well meaning or not, of others had simply been too painful for him to deal with, so he had shut them out by appearing as if her death did not bother him in the slightest, retreating from human contact for decades until the discovery of Rukia, his wife's younger sister, whom she had left behind in the Rukongai shortly before she caught his attention and their relationship began. Controlling himself, Byakuya took another sip of his tea to center himself as he stared out unseeingly across the expanse of bare bushes and trees that fileld his gardens during winter. It was a harsh vista, but not unbeautiful in its way, and still filled with the vibrancy of life if you cared to look close enough. Much like Byakuya himself in many respects. Though unlike his gardens, spring rarely touched upon Byakuya, he was a man forever trapped in the depths of winter now that Hisana was gone.

He supposed some might see it as unreasonable for him to continue to so deeply mourn a woman whom he knew only for a brief time, as time was measured in Soul Society, and whom had passed away almost half a century prior, which was not a small chunk of time even by Soul Society standards, but he had never been able to close up his heart and move past her absence, and he was starting to think he never would. And he was okay with that in some respects... better to have loved only once, but as deeply as the oceans and as expansively as the sky, than loved many times fleetingly and without true feeling. But he was still a man, and a fairly youthful one by the standards of Soul Society, he wasn't going to dismiss out of hand the idea that he might eventually find another woman that could see and love the real him, as Hisana had. But in the meantime, he had many other concerns to fill his time and attention.

His duties as Captain of the 6th division of the Gotei 13 took up an appreciable portion of each day, mostly with administrative type tasks, filing paperwork, writing reports and putting his signature on a variety of documents requiring his perusal and acceptance. He knew many of his fellow Captains regarded paperwork as a personal nemesis, to be fought or avoided at all costs, but to him, who had been raised in the libraries and record vaults of the Kuchiki's, it was both familiar and comforting. Of course there had been a time during his youth when he was more concerned with the art of the sword than that of the pen, but he was past such immaturity now, having recognized that it was with pens, rather than swords, that most major conflicts were fought and won, especially in the Soul Society. Of course there were always notable exceptions, such as the Winter War against Aizen and the other traitors, but that was just that, an exception, not the rule. Previous to the Winter War, the last major open conflict involving the Gotei 13 had been almost eight hundred years in the past, and poor records keeping at the time prevented much sense being made of whatever conflict that was.

Beyond the paperwork there was also seeing to the other needs of his division, training new recruits fresh from the Academy, inventorying supplies, meeting with his fellow Captains to discuss joint exercises or missions, and of course attending to his own personal duties as a Captain, including keeping his own fighting skills up at their usual all but peerless level. Some of these things he could delegate to or be assisted with by his Vice-Captain, Renji, or his other seated officers, but contrary to speculation and outward appearances, Byakuya did like keeping his own hand in, as the saying went. He'd seen what happened to division where the Captain did not keep tabs on the actual day to day operations of the division, and the results were never pretty... the 11th division was a sterling example of this. It wasn't so much a division as it was a mob of outcasts and drunks that weren't welcome anywhere else! He shuddered, internally anyways, to think of the 6th division in such a shambles. Not in HIS lifetime.

And then when he had fully discharged those duties, at least for a day, he had his obligations to his clan to fufill, which involved even more paperwork, legal documents that often put to shame even the worst of documents he dealt with as 6th division Captain, simply because of their convoluted and flowery language that took ten sentences to convey the meaning of a single short phrase! It was all part and parcel of being a nobleman, and Byakuya bore the burden both willingly and graciously, but that didn't mean, in the depths of his own mind, that he had to fully enjoy it. And once he got through the paperwork there was the politics, both dealing with those outside the clan, such as other noble families and other factions within the Sereitei, and those factions within the Kuchiki clan itself. Though technically united under his leadership, the Kuchiki clan was quite large and had many well respected and politically powerful elders, all of whom privately wished for the "young heir", being Byakuya, to listen to their advice and favor their ideas over those of their rivals. They were all important people in their own ways, and he could afford to overtly offend or snub none of them, but the same time, he could not acquiese to some without offending others. It was a delicate dance, but it was one he'd been born to perform.

It amounted to a lot of hidden stress, which amounted to a lot of rather chopped up target dummies at the 6th division headquarters, but there were a few subjects that Byakuya was not willing to bend on with the fracticious elders. One of those was him finding another wife... if such a person did eventually come along, she would come in her own time and Byakuya would never accept a political marriage in the meanwhile. And the other was getting his adopted sister, Hisana's younger sister, Rukia, involved in the house dealings. He had promised Hisana on her deathbed that he would look out for and protect her younger sister, who at that time was a complete unknown to him, and he had never meant any words more seriously than he did those. His execution of this promise had not always been perfectly stellar, Byakuya could admit this, if only to himself, such as the time when he had almost allowed her to be executed for the crime of sharing her Shinigami powers with Kurosaki. He'd been caught in a bit of a vice that time, his promise to Hisana on one hand, his solemnly sworn duty to the Sereitei and the Kuchiki clan... who as records keepers were also tasked with upholding the written codex of laws for Soul Society... on the other.

Fortunately, Kurosaki had spared him having to really make a last minute decision on the problem, and allowed him to satisfy both promises... he engaged Ichigo and fought him with all of his power, if not exactly all of his intent, and when the substitute shinigami's power proved up to the task, it was no hard thing to step back and allow Rukia to be saved. Of course Aizen and his maneuvering and backstabbing had muddled everything up shortly afterwards, but that was another issue entirely. But that minor hiccup aside, he had stood by his word and done everything in his power to keep Rukia from getting tangled up in the politics and conflicting pressures of the Kuchiki clan, allowing her to live a life of privilege and freedom from want. Of course things hadn't gone exactly as planned... her becoming a Shinigami for instance, or becoming tangled up with Kurosaki and his ilk in the first place, but he was still fairly sure that she was happier as she was than she would have been turned into a bartering tool or pawn for the Kuchiki elders.

It was hard for him to be entirely sure on that, since it was imperative for him to keep his emotional distance from her as much as possible. When Hisana had been alive, she was constantly under one threat or another, never of violence but always some form of censure or humiliation, in bids to control him by controlling her, and he knew many of the elders would be only too glad to use Rukia for the exact same purpose if they ever truly believed she was near and dear to his heart. So he was forced to treat her coldly, hurting her what he hoped was only a little in order to spare her much greater pain in the future. It had a few unintended consequences... her problems with self confidence and self worth from never seeming able to measure up to his expectations had indrectly stunted her growth as a Shinigami, and it was only after associating with Kurosaki that she once again began to show the sort of promise and power that she had once had back at the academy. Of course this was actually somewhat to his advantage, because it gave him a reason beyond familial overprotectiveness to demand that she not be allowed to take a seated position in the 13th division, despite Ukitake's oft expressed desire to have her fill in his long empty Vice-Captain's spot. That reason was fading away in the wake of the Winter War, during which Rukia had faced and defeated an Espada solo, which was far more than most serving Vice-Captains could claim to be able to do!

And who was to blame for this sudden escalation in her powers and abilities? Why none other than Ichigo Kurosaki, hailed by some as the Hero of the Winter War, the man who'd defeated Aizen in personal combat, and easily the most talented Shinigami seen in hundreds of years. All very admirable qualities, Byakuya could not deny that. However, he also could not find it in himself to overtly approve of Kurosaki, who was brash, reckless on a good day, overly familiar with his betters if not outright rude and worst of all, entirely too friendly with Rukia, whom Byakuya had not failed to notice was rather caught up in the coarse but still charasimatic Substitute Shinigami's legend. Perhaps this might be because of how he'd all but declared personal war on the entire Sereitei in order to save her life from what he saw as an unjust persecution, and somehow managed to emerge victorious from the attempt, but Byakuya knew it was more than just hero worship. Rukia really liked Kurosaki, on a personal level, as he reminded her in many ways of Kaein Shiba, her late mentor in the 13th division, but unlike Shiba, Kurosaki was not previously married and he was right at around Rukia's physical age, given the differences in aging between the living and Shinigami.

Byakuya had been a teenager for several decades himself after all, and that time wasn't so far in the past that he didn't remember how it felt to be in the grip of the body's biological race towards adulthood. But just because he could remember it, didn't mean he was going to condone it or allow it to go unsupervised either. As far as he was concerned, his promise to Hisana involving Rukia extended to protecting her from unhappiness in matters of the heart as well as pain in the body, and he was all too aware that most first crushes tended to end in eventual heartbreak. That added onto the fact that Kurosaki was an uncouth lout only a few small steps up from barbarians like Zaraki and it was obvious that he was no fit match for his sister, heroics aside. He had NOT been happy with her reassignment to be his minder and tutor in the world of the living, but with the Captain-General himself giving the order, what could he realistically do? Ukitake didn't often call in favors from his association with the founder of the Gotei 13, but when he did, what he wanted, he got. It was sometimes hard to remember, given how laid back and even childish the man acted, that he was almost three times Byakuya's age and had been a serving captain for most of that time!

Byakuya forced himself to be calm and to take another sip of his tea. What was done was done, and there was no use getting worked up about things he couldn't currently change. He had already invested some time and political capital in pressuring the Captain-General from the Kuchiki front, and was poised to call in a few favors from some of the other Captains if need be, especially Captain Fon of the 2nd, for their assistance in righting this untenable situation. In the meantime, he would just have to hope that his sister would remember that she was a Kuchiki and that before attempting even a casual liason of the intimate sort, she had to clear her suitor with him first. Rukia was a sensible... well, perhaps not so sensible... but smart, she was a smart girl. Surely she wouldn't allow something to happen that would require him to intervene for honor's sake against someone she cared about. Byakuya had always been very serious when it came to his pride and the honor of the Kuchiki family, and as far as he was concerned, Rukia was the physical manifestion of both those things. If Kurosaki laid one lecherous finger on that pride then he would be lucky to only pull back a bleeding stump...

Though in truth, Byakuya would rather deal with a thousand Ichigo Kurosaki's and their not so honorable intentions towards his sister than ever deal with another conflict like the Winter War. Casualties aside, the sheer volume of paperwork involved in the aftermath of such an event was enough to make even someone like him want to hide under his desk! Though the season might be winter at the moment, the Soul Society was still very much in its summertime of emotions, as people finally once again had the free time and energy to worry about more personal concerns rather than their own lives or the survival of the delicate balance between the living world and the Soul Society. Things were finally getting back to normal again...

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, 2nd Division Compound, Captain's Office, January 12th, 1:15 pm**

Captain Soi Fon, leader of the Gotei 13's 2nd division and also commander in chief of the Special Operations squad, sat in her chair behind her desk and considered a recent item of paperwork carefully, hands folded in her lap in a nearly meditative pose as she leaned back and stared at the ceiling, chewing absentmindedly at the back of her pen, flicking it back and forth, up and down as her mind turned over the problem, the cost and the benefit involved in the document that sat on the desk in front of her. It was a proposal, very politely worded and respectful, from Captain Kuchiki of the 6th, for a deployment of Special Operations soldiers to discreetly observe the activities of Rukia Kuchiki and Ichigo Kurosaki in the living world. Thought not expressly stated, it was obvious from the timing of the request and her knowledge of the man himself that Kuchiki was worried that while the cat was away, the mice would start to play, an odd saying Yourichi-sama had brought back from the living world which meant that when authority went away, an environment tended to become more relaxed, even boisterious. In short, he was worried that Kurosaki was fooling around with his precious younger sister, but was forbidden by his duties from going to check up on them himself.

The real question was, what would she get out of it? Though on the surface this was fairly normal for a request involving the Special Operations squad... they kept tabs on hundreds of people throughout the Soul Society all the time after all, it was part of their jobs as the Sereitei's intelligence gathering network... the fact of who was being observed and who was requesting the observation, as well as the fact that the Captain-General had pointedly been excluded from the chain of request made things a bit different. It meant that Byakuya Kuchiki was asking for a personal favor from her, that he wanted this kept between the two of them. Of course she could not just go out and ask what the man was willing to give in return for such a favor, things just weren't done that way, but she could imagine what sort of price she might ask, knowing as she did how irrational Kuchiki could be when it came to matters of his sister, even if he didn't let on visibly. What sort of ninja would she be if she couldn't even figure that much out, after all?

Even just being able to hold a future favor over one such as Byakuya Kuchiki could be extremely worthwhile in the proper circumstances, and Soi Fon knew that she would be granting this request, the only question was, how much could she milk out of it before Byakuya got fed up and decided to send Abarai or someone else instead. She felt no remorse about using her fellow Captain's emotional needs in this regard, it was part of her job description to take advantage of any weakness that might present itself, either in enemies or allies, for the betterment of the Sereitei as a whole. Leaning forward, she stopped chewing on her pen... a bad habit she'd picked up during her time as Yourichi-sama's assistant, as anyone dealing with such a stressful job could not help but pick up a nervous tic or two after a while... and wrote a polite but still firm denial on the document, doing her best to word things so that while her answer was obviously "no", she would still convey that she was open to more negotiation if the deal was to be perceptibly sweetened. This was easier than one might think... as Yourichi-sama's assistant, she had often been forced to deal with correspondence from the Shihoin family, and that wasn't the sort of stuff one could just brush off, verbally or literally.

Satisfied with her wording after several minutes, Soi Fon set the document aside into the "finished" pile and moved on to the next item of business, a series of written reports from covert agents sent to observe the actions of persons of interest around the Sereitei itself, including all the other Captains, their Vice-Captains, and some others. The Winter War had generated some unexpectedly useful fallout in this area, as in the throes of life or death combat for survival, a great many people had revealed depths of hidden power that would normally be justified cause for covert observation, people she ordinarily would never have expected of such things, such as 3rd seat Ikkaku from 11th Division, who had somehow managed to attain Bankai unnoticed by her agents, something for which no few of them had been comprehensively chewed out for. Soi Fon didn't see this covert observation as an invasion of privacy, as she wasn't collecting this information for personal benefit or amusement, nor for further dissemination... not even the Captain-General could see these reports without permission from Central 46.

All the same, she often found the reports to contain details of things that she really would rather not have known, such as the details of Shunsui Kyoraku's most recent drunken misadventures or some of the medical conditions certain Soul Reapers were having treated by Retsu Unohana due to extra curricular activites outside the Sereitei walls, as well as some things she found amusing, such as someone's attempts to keep an eye on the meetings of the SWA, the Shinigami Women's Association, which she very specifically did not remember ordering, meaning Omeada was overstepping his bounds once more. Honestly, was that man only proficient in his job when it was inconvenient to her? He was obnoxiously loud and boorish whenever a situation called for serious work, but the moment she wanted to find him to dump some task, usually unpleasant, upon him, he seemed to become a ghost, beyond even her abilities to find, which was nothing less than impressive, given his size.

There were also reports on the inevitable romantic entanglements between certain persons of interest, the most notable of which at the current time were Captain Hitsugaya of 10th division and Vice-Captain Hinamori of the 5th. Vice-Captain Hinamori especially was under close observation as she was still not fully declared mentally sound and fit for all duties in the wake of the Winter War. As Aizen's Vice-Captain, she had been exposed to his hypnotic tactics and lies more than anyone else, and she had been severey emotionally scarred both by his betrayal and later on his defeat and imprisonment, this all in addition to suffering nearly mortal wounds at the hands of Hitsugaya himself, under the influence of Aizen's hypnosis. But this close brush with death did seem to have brought about one slight positive, as Hitsugaya and Hinamori had finally managed to embark on a romantic relationship that even Soi Fon, who was not known for her romantic sensibilities, had been able to see coming quite a ways back.

And then, above and beyond the matters at hand within the Sereitei, which were mostly harmless though that was certainly no reason to slack off, there were the reports from her agents throughout the Rukongai and even the Living World to consider! Though most of her intelligence on the Living World came either from Kisuke Urahara, whom she did not trust any further than she could hurl Captain Zaraki one handed and probably a great deal less, or Yourichi-sama, whom she trusted implicitly but for all her acumen, didn't tend to be very helpful. One such report had including nothing more than a note attached to a small black plushy cat saying "Lighten up, Shaolin". She had kept the toy cat, as she did all little gifts that Yourichi-sama had deigned to give her over the years of their association, though she did have to admit, the report itself left her feeling a little high and dry on current events of the Living. Not that she would ever overtly criticize Yourichi-sama for lack of attention to detail or for taking her position too lightly, all the same, sometimes she wished her friend and mentor could be a little more serious.

Her keen senses detected someone coming down the short hall that led to her office, and Soi Fon immediately smoothed her face into its public cold scowl, removing her pen from between her lips... the last thing she needed was to be quelling rumors amidst her subordinates about her apparent "oral fixation" or something inane and debasing like that. She had most of her subordinates running very much scared from even a hint of her displeasure, but as was inevitably the case when you ruled with an iron gauntlet over a velvet glove, there was a certain, hardcore group of dissidents within her ranks that seemed to actively enjoy taunting her and shirking their work or using their talents for frivolous purposes. This behavior was only encouraged, unfortunately, by the behavior of her Vice-Captain, Omaeda. Though the man had in fact earned his rank through skill, rather than buying it through his family's great wealth as was commonly believed, that didn't change the fact that as far as being a ninja went, he was a failure in her eyes and always would be. He was just about everything a ninja should not be!

Her office door slide open and a member of the Special Forces glided inside, taking special care to actually make slight noises when he stepped, as a professional courtesy to her, to show that he wasn't attempting to sneak up upon her for some nefarious purpose. It was part of the dichotomy of being a member of the stealth force... most Captains wanted their underlings to be quiet so that they could maintain concentration on one task or another, Soi Fon required hers to make noise so that she didn't feed her paranoia too much and end up executing the lot of them for conspiracy. As was the usual for male members of the Special Operations squad, his head was shaved bald and his facial features half hidden by a black pull up cloth mask, his Zanpakuto sheathed horizontally across his lower back in the same style that she wore hers. He said nothing, merely proferred a sealed note bearing the emblem of the Special Operations forces, the subtle color variations and patterning of the wax seal denoting which of her patrol units it came from, group 23 in this particular case.

If memory served, and for Soi Fon it always did, Patrol Group 23 was assigned to be watching the 56th District of the Rukongai, a poorly developed rural area that was noteworthy only in that it wasn't noteworthy, being a backwater far removed from the civilization to be found in the lower numbered districts, but free of the lawlessness and barbarity that prevaded the districts of 60 to 80. Soul Reapers from various divisions were frequently assigned to patrol the first 60 Districts of the Rukongai, the outer cities and settlements that provided a place for souls to live in after transitioning from the Living World, and even the outer 20 Districts were at least haphazardly visited by members of the 11th Division, but her Patrol Groups were there more for observation purposes than Hollow control or law enforcement duties, sniffing out signs of rebellion or other strange occurences before they became a threat to the Sereitei. Most of the Districts above 40 were more or less wilderness with only a few scattered towns and settlements, Soi Fon had a tough time imagining what could possibly be worth her notice in such boondocks.

Taking the missive, she nodded a curt dismissal of her agent, one of her headquarter's staff... she made a point not to learn any of their names, in an effort to discourage familiarity. One of the guiding principles of the Special Operations squad was the completion of the mission at hand before personal attachments, the death of a friend was only one more opportunity to strike down your foes. Waiting until he retreated from her office and slid the door shut, and further to hear his carefully audible tread in the hall, Soi Fon slit open the message with a throwing star she palmed from her sash and quickly scanned the contents of the message before forcing herself to go back to the top and read it again, this time with all the details. Her fingers crumpled the edges of the waxy paper in annoyance, as Omeada was still off slacking off or feeding his face or whatever it was that he did when she needed him for a job. The wording of the letter was urgent, but not so urgent as to demand a personal response from her. Still, if even half of what was in the report were true, this wasn't something that she could delegate to a simple Patrol Leader either. It was a perfect job for a Vice-Captain, but of course hers wasn't around! She let out a snarling sigh and got up from her desk, hand instinctively grabbing Suzumebachi on the way.

It looked like she was in for a little fresh air. She just hoped that this wasn't all going to be a big waste of time. Then again, with the Winter War now over with, she had been looking for a new challenge to occupy her mind and attention... a little rebellion or discord in the boondocks could be just the sort of task she needed to keep herself sharp through these winter months. Still, she could not help but have her mind catch on the closing words of the message. "Please hurry... the crimson stained snow cries out for vengeance!" What an oddly poetic phrase...


	3. Crimson Dusk

Author Note: I modified the first chapter to include a list of important terms and my initial OC's, so if you haven't seen that, going back to check it out might not be a bad idea. Good to hear from people already, though I was kind of hoping to hear from some people whom I did not already know, I guess I just need to give it time. A small part of the reason I am writing and posting this is to expand my readership into a new sector with new fans after all. Never fear, old fans, I have no intention of just dropping TGA in favor of TVC, its just a current craze that has hold of me, an itch that won't quit until I sufficiently scratch it. Which may well not be for a couple hundred thousand words (and really, with me, that ain't so much...), but hey, there's no guarantee I won't be able to update RW in that time, and since I was only one chapter from midpoint and planning on taking a step back for a short time anyway, this is all working out rather nicely. You guys have held out for months before in TGA history without an update, at least now you'll still be getting updates, just not in TGA necessarily.

xxxx

**Soul Society, Rukongai District 56, Prefectural Center Township, January 12th, 6:35 pm**

With a whisper of displaced air and a blur of motion, Soi Fon materialized in the designated clearing just outside the outskirts of the one town of any real size in District 56, switching from Shunpo to stealth movements with a seamlessness only long decades of practice could allow. Several seconds later, a dozen and a half members of the Special Operations force, selected from the reserve forces at her headquarters, also materialized in the snow covered clearing and moved into cover, black shadows against the pale blue of the dusk lit snow, leaving nary a footprint behind to mark their passing. Their stealth was up to standards, and she supposed it wasn't really their fault that they couldn't keep up with her in terms of pure speed, especially over such a relatively long distance, but she made a note to find fault with them for being slow once they got back to the Sereitei. Complacany with skills was something a ninja could never afford.

Crouching in the boughs of a pine tree, Soi Fon peered through the tangle of branches and needles, her eyes already adapted to the near dark conditions as dusk fell over the Rukongai. This far away from the heart of civilization crowded around the Sereitei, the darkness was more complete than she was used to, as there was no massed glow of lanterns and watchfires to reflect light from the clouds. This suited her just fine, a ninja was most comfortable in darkness after all, the more complete the better. She shivered slightly and felt goosebumps rise on the skin of her arms and back, legacies of the biting chill of the winter night that was fast approaching. She could of course keep herself toasty warm with a simple exercise of her spiritual energy, but to do so would compromise her total stealth capability. Enduring environmental extremes was just another of many tests a Special Operations member was expected to face and defeat on a daily basis. Optionally, she could have opted for a winter uniform, which was thicker and covered more of her body, but if for some odd reason this turned into a combat operation, the warmer uniform would only be shredded if she had to use her Shunko anyway.

Her gaze resting on the darkened hamlet of buildings a mile or so away, through lightly wooded farmland of some sort, now covered in snow to a depth of about a foot, perhaps more, with sheafs of ice crystals hanging from the roofs of some buildings, some of the icicles appeared to be taller and thicker than she herself was... plainly this area had not seen a good thaw in some time. Soi Fon filed this informaton away in her tactical mindset, noting that the footing was likely to be unreliable within the town and especially atop its roofs, and that the snow on the ground might be deep enough to slightly impede movements if an operative was to allow themselves to sink into it. The icicles might break and create noise which could alert sentries and give away a ninja's position inadvertently, though conversely they provided good visual cover and a way for a ninja to get close to the walls of a building without being easily seen from further away. No detail was too small or unimportant to be noticed and considered, that was the hallmark of a true ninja and member of the Special Operations squad.

The town was dark, lacking even a single lantern or candle lit window as far as she could discern, which was irregular for the time of day, as the sun began to sink beyond the horizon and the land became a tapestry of ruddy skies and a patchwork of light blue and crisp white splotches on the ground. In a few more minutes, lighting conditions would be optimal for her and her group to move forward unnoticed, as sentries used to the light of day would be most blind when the sun initially sank and plunged the world into darkness. In the meantime, she would observe the town from hiding and try and gather as much information as possible. She felt a a well hidden presence materialize on the branch next to her, the leader of Patrol Group 23 coming to brief his Captain in more detail than his warning letter had allowed. If he was shocked to see that Captain Fon herself had responded to the missive, it was not apparent in either his posture or voice, she noted with approval. She did not take her eyes off the town even for an instant, but she briefly nodded her head, giving him permission to speak.

"We have been passing through this area infrequently in order to resupply at random intervals, as per standard patrol doctrine, Captain." The ninja reported, his voice barely audible, even to her ears, and he was crouched at all but touching distance. Again, very professional, she was impressed so far. "Our last visit before our most recent one was eight days before this morning, and the town was perfectly in order at that time, save for the minor corruption of a few local tax officials that we included in our regular reports. Upon approaching the town this morning, my unit noticed that there was a lack of sentries on the town outskirts, and we retreated in order to better observe the unknown situation. As time progressed, I discerned that no one was stirring within the town, after some deliberation, sent a pair of subordinates in to recon the area." For just the briefest moment, the patrol leader's voice turned hesitant, as if he was troubled by what he was going to say next. Soi Fon took careful note of this... something must really be wrong, to give one of her officers pause in contemplating it.

"I did not initially believe their report to be true, Captain, so I investigated myself, contrary to doctrine and I am prepared to accept censure for it. However, I did not only find their report to be accurate, but if anything, understated. As I explained in my note to headquarters, I found the townspeople to be massacred, cut down in their homes and the inner streets of the city in droves, men, women, and children alike. Not a single soul was left living, and many of their bodies showed evidence of torture and abuse before they were killed. I have seen many battlefields, many tragedies, Captain, and I do not hesitate to say that this was worse than anything I have ever seen before. At first I thought it to be the work of a rampaging Hollow or Hollow pack, but as my shock wore off, I realized the evidence did not match such a conclusion..." The man continued, his voice bland but she could still sense the disturbance in his spirit energy signature that showed that he was far from as calm as he sounded.

"Indeed." Soi Fon replied curtly, having already come to that conclusion herself. If it had been a Hollow attack, there would have been no bodies left behind, since it was in order to eat living souls to increase their own power and sustain their wretched lives that Hollows preyed upon the residents of the Rukongai in the first place. That there were still bodies, no matter how brutalized or tortured, left behind in the town meant that Hollows could not be responsible for the massacre, though perhaps whoever had massacred the people had meant for an uninitiated or overly emotional observer to think so. Such lawless barbarity was extremely uncommon in the Rukongai, even in the outer 20 Districts, even the infamous 80th Zaraki District, the massacre of an entire town of hundreds of Souls was all but unheard of, and only then at the hands of a Menos class Hollow that had somehow slipped through the normal detection nets in a time before the Gotei 13 was created.

"Realizing that the situation was abnormal, I deemed it wiser to retreat and observe from a distance while waiting on direction from headquarters, but I unfortunately have no further developments to report. The town is as a tomb, Captain, and not even the carrion birds will approach it. I understand that personal feelings have no place in the mission reports of a Special Operations officer, but if I may be permitted the leniency, I must say that I don't like this one bit, Captain." The patrol leader bowed his head, signalling the end of his report.

"Very well, we shall discuss your conduct at a later time." Soi Fon answered, receiving the slight but deliberate exhalation that the ninja forces used as an nonvocal acknowledgement in reply, and then a shifting of the banch as the patrol leader's weight left it, as he shunpoed back to his position amongst his team, spread out in the surrounding wilderness around the town. In truth, Soi Fon was not irritated at the officer's conduct in the slightest... while she was a stickler for the rules, the first rule of a ninja was always "accomplish the mission at all costs", even if that meant bending the other rules that governed their proper conduct. His voicing of a personal opinion rather than bare facts, while not desirable, did serve to further highlight the gravity of the situation, and as such, the breach of protocol was not only warranted, but actually creatively utilized, and thus proper. She made a note that perhaps Patrol Leader 23... the only name by which she knew him... was ready to move up in the Special Operations ranks, if this was a good sampling of his talents and work ethic.

Subtle motions of her hands conveyed her orders and intentions to her closest subordinates, who would then relay them to those in positions that did not allow them to see her, all done in complete silence of course. She was opting for a cautious approach, even though the town was observed to be dead and empty, she could not the shake the feeling that the massacre had been left behind as a deliberate message of some sort, though whether it was intended for the Sereitei or some other group, she did not currently know. Regardless, such blunt messages were usually observed from a distance for signs of a possible reaction from those who the message was for. At least, that's what she would have done if she were the one to leave such a gauche message. She had to assume, until evidence proved otherwise, that whatever foes were out there possessed at least as much skill and cunning as she herself did. Better to assume the worst than hope for the best, another of many maxims a ninja lived by.

As the sun reached the proper angle, so that it would cast few shadows and those only for a short distance, Soi Fon initiated her infiltration of the town, in concert with Patrol Group 23, who had better local knowledge of the town and the best routes to enter it unseen, while her reinforcement group took up overwatch positions around the town, keeping eyes and ears open for signs of potential observers or ambushing forces, and to serve as reinforcements or messengers if need be, depending on how combat, if it were to break out, looked to be shaping up. If by attacking they could shift the balance in the favor of allies, then attacking was proper, but if those within the town were on the verge of being overwhelmed, it was proper to retreat and spread the warning to headquarters, even if Captain Fon herself was to fall to the enemy thusly.

She moved in short, rapid bursts of speed that carried her from one piece of cover to the next, here a clump of frost dusted bushes, there a hummock of snow, and then a low wall of icy stones, perhaps a garden boundary. She halted behind the wall, assessing her next move, which would carry her across a wide stretch of very open ground, with little to no cover, in full view of the town and any potential watchers. Even someone as small as her, which was normally an advantage for stealth operations, could not effectively hide in only a foot a snow, and the idea of trying to belly crawl beneath the freezing blanket of moisture was extremely unappealing to her. She opted to rely on her speed, second only to that of Yourichi-sama, blitzing across the intervening space so quickly even the most perceptive of Soul Reapers would see little more than a suggestion of a blur, materializing between a wall of icicles thicker than her thighs and the actual wall of the house beyond, an artificial cave of translucent darkness. Keeping her steps small and careful, wary of the hard frozen ground and ice puddles beneath her feet, as even a minor slip could be a terminal mistake, both in terms of her life and her pride, Soi Fon edged around the wall of the house and peered out down the main street of the town, a view she had been denied from her previous treetop perch.

The slight widening of her eyes was her only overt reaction to the scene revealed, but that in and of itself was the equivalent of a shocked yell from most anyone else. It was exactly as Patrol Leader 23 had insinuated... she was no stranger to the bloody aftermath of conflicts or tragedies, and had seen death leave people in more pathetic and debased forms than she could easily recount or wish to remember, but there was just something about the wanton violence that had been inflicted upon the townsfolk that chilled her blood. On the surface it appeared to be little more than a barbaric berserker frenzy, as one might assume the brutes of the 11th Division to inflict, but her analytical eyes quickly noticed that there was definite guiding intelligence behind the placement of bodies and the infliction of wounds. This was not just a slaughter, this was painful death done as an art form upon the canvas of helpless victims!

No single body was left whole, and most she could see were missing multiple limbs, especially heads, which were often piled or dumped in mounds or even stacked in some sort of grisly pyramid. Others were missing vast swatches of skin, which looked to have been removed almost delicately, with the aid of small but extremely sharp knives or claws, the strips and banners of human hide hung from the eaves of houses and nailed to walls like perversions of heraldric banners, symbols and words that Soi Fon did not recognize painted upon them in the blood of the victims, though the symbol of the grinning, fanged skull was fairly obviously a death totem of some sort. The winter chill had dried the skin into a parchment like consistency, and the evening breeze made eerie flapping noises like the wings of ghostly vultures as it stirred the dangling folds and rustled the ghastly banners nailed to the walls. There was so much blood on the ground that the snow within the streets of the town was bathed entirely crimson, a swathe of blood-ice that looked thick enough to slide upon without cracking underfoot!

Some of the bodies looked to have been partially eaten, signs of chewed bones and half eaten organs lying discarded like half stale meat buns on the ground, and several of them appeared to have been bound and restrained at the time of their murder, one or two even crucified to the walls of a house, using the jagged bone splinters of their own loved ones as nails, others appeared to have been strangled with their own entrails as rope. A monument of broken and splintered wooden beams and planks, the remnants of some sort of small shrine and some farm wagons, had been erected in the middle of the town's central market square, the young residents of the town, none older than forty or fifty and most, barely older than toddlers by Soul Society standards, impaled upon the spars while seemingly still alive and left to slowly die through massive blood and spirit energy loss, hanging like morbid berries from a deathly thornbush.

Arrayed around this grisly monument to evil were the young women of the town, their bodies curiously whole at first glance, until one noted that their hands and feet were all lopped off, their bodies naked and showing signs of abuse both physical and sexual, turned into playthings for their attackers before they were maimed and forced to fight each other to the death on their bloody stumps, egged on by the pitiful cries of their younger siblings and children, bleeding out on the monument above them. Soi Fon felt herself becoming a little dizzy as each new horror presented itself to her all too perceptive eyes, and she had to duck back around the corner, close her eyes and take a meditative deep breath in order to re-center herself. This was bad, worse than anything she'd ever expected, but she couldn't let it get to her, couldn't let herself become angry or disgusted or bothered, as to do so would be playing right into the hands of whatever monsters had done this. Steeling herself, she stepped out of cover, deliberately exposing herself to scrutiny or attack from any hidden foes.

No alarm was shouted, no attacks were sent her way, only the papery rustling of the cold-dried skins could be heard, and Soi Fon tenatively determined that the town really was empty and abandoned. Slowly following her example, the members of Patrol Group 23 also emerged from cover, though they were plainly as disturbed as she, if not more so, and none of them ever ventured far from a convenient shadow or piece of cover to leap behind and disappear from sight within at the first sign of trouble. They silently picked through the abbatoir the town had become, sometimes neeling by a particularly gruesome corpse, sometimes peering into one of the houses, only to turn away with closed eyes as some new atrocity or horror within all but blasted their senses. They'd all be having nightmares about this, they knew this and accepted it as just another job hazard. The way the wounds were inflicted, the positions of the bodies, the predations on young and old alike, it was all calculated, precisely, chillingly calculated to have the maximum possible emotional effect on anyone with even a shred of decency and human compassion in their hearts, and several of the operatives were unconsciously crying in rage or distress, only noticing when the moisture started to freeze on their cheeks.

Soi Fon noticed that her weapon hand was clenching tightly at her side, and she made a conscious effort to relax it, not wanting her subordinates to see that she was as bothered by the scene as they were. Even Aizen's treachery had not involved this level of sadistic violence, and even Hollows or Arrancar might have trouble emulating the scale of this atrocity, simply because they were too hungry for Souls to waste so much time and effort on torturing them first. This kind of barbarism was like nothing she'd ever had the misfortune of seeing before, even the grimmest tales of civil wars in the distant past of the Soul Society, long before the Gotei 13 was ever established, only hinted at war crimes as vile as what had been done to this town and its people. Such acts could not help but turn the people who were slain into Hollows themselves, it was an act that no Soul Reaper could have ever possibly condoned or committed, at least not one in their right mind! And even accounting for the evil and deranged sorts, what was the point behind targeting this town, with no resident Soul Reapers or inherent value of any sort? It was just a town, one like any of ten thousand others across the Rukongai.

The thought that this massacre had been levied at random was, if anything, more chilling than the fact of the massacre itself! Soi Fon did not like random events, as they made it almost impossible to figure out if there was a greater purpose to something. Without being able to understand the motivations and reasons of those who would do such things as this, it was that much harder to get inside their heads and plans to pre-empt them from striking again! Striding forward, Soi Fon crouched by one of the bodies of the slain young women, her eyes doing their best to both pass over and focus upon the brutal violations done to her body. She dispassionately noted that, contrary to first glance, the hands and feet of this victim and the others had not been cut off but rather torn and twisted off by application of brute strength of some sort, leaving jagged juts of bone protruding from the stumps, which had been put into use as improvised weapons by the desperate and dying women, judging by the puncture wounds each of the women sported in their faces and chests and backs.

The girl, certainly no older than seventy, was lying face down on the street, her limbs splayed with perverse intent, as if to pridefully display the evidence of her sexual violations to those who came later, the skin of her back and thighs deeply bruised and lacerated from rough handling by multiple assailants. Though she knew it was pointless and a needless show of emotion, Soi Fon still did her best to nudge the poor girl's legs together with one foot, trying to grant her at least some dignity in death. However, even this gesture was at first denied, because the girl's limbs were frozen to the blood slicked ground, and it took quite a bit of kicking to break the ice around her leg enough for Soi Fon to slide it over to rest against the other. She looked around challengingly, daring any of her subordinates to be staring at her actions, but they were smarter than that, and indeed many of them were doing their best to give what dignity to the dead they could unobtrusively manage as well, even if it was only closing eyes or arranging limbs into less wanton or depraved postures. Leaving the bodies of the dead in the open to rot like this went against every notion of cleanliness and honor for the fallen that Soul Society had, even the worst of enemies in the civil war had the courtesy to burn the bodies of enemy dead after a victory, rather than just leave them to decay!

Crouching down at the dead girl's side, Soi Fon steeled herself and began working to break the ice that glued the corpse face down to the ground, having noticed an odd black mark on the girl's cheek that seemed to extend across her face, which was currently pressed against the ground. It looked like a sort of scar or slash mark, but there was no indentation in the flesh. Perhaps it was a tattoo or some other distinguishing mark, or perhaps, and she hoped this was the case, it was some sort of marking or icon from those who had done this crime, which could be used to track them down or identify them. At last working the girl free, aided by the efforts of Patrol Leader 23, who knelt on the opposite side of the girl's body and did his best to avoid his Captain's gaze, Soi Fon carefully flipped the body over, trying not to wince as several sections of skin tore and ripped free, remaining frozen to the ground, exposing dark red and purple musculature beneath, with gooey trails of semi-slushy blood cnnecting the surface skin the muscles beneath.

She frowned, because the mark was nothing more than a long, straight slash of darkest black, that diagonally bisected the girl's head and one side of her neck, looking almost like a brand seared into the skin, but when she tenatively touched a finger to the mark, there was no burn or wound there, just cold, stiff flesh. The front of the girl's body was just as abused as her back, if not more so, especially around the breasts and genital areas, causing Soi Fon to grimace unconsciously. She was no stranger to sex, it being a potential part of any female ninja's duty that they might be asked to seduce a target under observation in order to obtain intelligence through pillow talk, though she did not enjoy nor seek out such diversions except at extremely rare and highly secretive intervals, to the point where most of her peers thought of her as asexual in most cases, or at the very least, extremely lesbian. She did not appreciate such rumors, but was content to let them keep their misapprehensions and idle fantasies about her and Yourichi-sama's true relationship if they liked, it would only lead them to underestimate her in the future, which was to her advantage. But the sight of this girl's abuse made her suddenly want to stab Patrol Leader 23 in the face, just because he was a man and men had done this horrible thing.

She held off from this urge of course, recognizing it for what it was, an aberrant surge of misguided emotion, and fortunately, Patrol Leader 23 seemed unaware of her briefly murderous thought as he carefully inspected the girl's head, noting signs of battering abuse from punches or kicks that had been used to initially subdue the girl. The wounds were deeper and more severe than mere bruising, the flesh as torn or lacerated in some spots along the bruising, leading him to believe that the attackers, whomever they were, wore armored gauntlets and boots of some sort, which suggested more than simple bandits or barbarians. One of her eyes was pulped and smeared across her cheek and broken nose, probably legacy of a particularly hard punch or kick, but the other was still intact and staring slightlessly into the sky. There was something off about the pupil, and Patrol Leader 23 leaned closer to peer through the darkness to make out the detail.

The last thing either of them were expecting was the girl to show any signs of life, her heart clearly had stopped beating, her blood was more on the ground than it was in her body, and she'd been lying naked in freezing temperatures long enough for her body to stick solidly to the ground, there was simply no way for her to be alive. But that didn't stop the pupil in question from suddenly widening and swiveling to stare at Patrol Leader 23, the milky blue orb displaying a slitted pupil, like that of a cat, rather than the round orb of a human. Frozen lipps jerkily peeled back from a mouthful of broken and shattered teeth that began falling out to reveal even more jagged fangs pushing forth from the gum tissue beneath in welters of sticky, oozing blood and pus, and the corpse-girl lunged at Patrol Leader 23 even as he was still blinking in shock at what he was seeing, impaling him through the thigh with one of her truncated arms even as she locked her fang filled jaws around his bent close face, her jaw muscles distending and warping like those of a serpent as she all but swallowed the bottom half of his head whole!

The male ninja reflexively jerked away from the pain of the wound in his leg, but succeeded only in literally getting his face, including eyes, nostrils and lips, ripped off by the corpse-girls fangs biting into his cheeks, leaving him staring through shockingly empty and blood filled sockets for a second, the entire front of his skull, painted red with gore, visible for a second before he collapsed backwards and died of shock, mercifully if anything, his last words more a incoherent wheeze than a scream. Soi Fon re-engaged her mind and leapt away from the thrashing corpse in time to avoid being gashed by another bony stump, noting that it wasn't only her chosen corpse that was beginning to move and moan, but all of the female corpses and a good few of the more complete bodies of the other townsfolk as well! Reanimation of dead tissue wasn't normal by any means, even for souls turning into Hollows, and besides, the girl had no mask nor hole, she was plainly not a Hollow. Yet it was clear from her bloodthirst and the way she scrambled to fall upon her fallen officer and began tearing at him with her teeth in obvious hunger, that she was no longer the Soul she had once been!

Drawing Suzumebachi, Soi Fon pounced forward with vindictive grace, and cleanly seperated the corpse's head from her shoulders. The girl's fang filled jaws continued to gnash and masticate chunks of cannibalized flesh in a disturbing manner for several seconds after being seperated from her body, but at length, both head and body appeared to once more be dead and inanimate. Shown that the creatures could still be killed, despite being reinanimated corpses, the remains of the Patrol Group followed their Captain's example and fell upon the reviving creatures, all of whom possessed the black slash mark on some portion of their bodies, with blades in hand. Beyond the initial surprise attack, the creatures were clumsy and handicapped by the mutilations that had first killed them, and they were easy prey for the skilled and agile ninjas. Not wanting to chance a second ressurection, Soi Fon ordered that the defeated bodies were to be chopped to pieces, grim work, but better than getting more faces eaten off! Still, she was deeply troubled by all of this, even as her subordinates began spreading through the town, re-executing every body they could find, just to be sure. This was outside her experience and knowledge, and she did not like that one bit.

Casting only a single look at the maimed body of the promising Patrol Leader 23, and that only to order that the body be retrieved and sent to the 12th Division for potential analysis along with several other items of evidence, including pieces from the body of one of the reanimated corpses as well as one that hadn't come back to life, Soi Fon left her minions to their duties and shunpoed to the edge of town, to call in her reinforcements to hasten the clean up process so that she could return to the Sereitei with due haste and spread the word of this atrocity. There was sure to be an emergency Captain's meeting in her near future, and for once, she found herself looking forward to a congress with her peers. This was bigger than something she could handle just by herself, though precisely how so, she could not yet say. Raising her arm to make a signal, Soi Fon froze in shock, staring out along the suggestions of the snow covered road that led to the town and conencted it to other towns in the District and beyond. There was a man, an unknown, strange man dressed in a style that was utterly unfamiliar to her, standing in the road a few hundred feet away. He appeared to be studying the town, and it was plain both that he saw her and that he was as surprised as she was to do so.

Between blinks of her eyes, before she could call out or signal her subordinates to surround and subdue the intruder, he was gone, only a few gusting particles of snow showing where he had once been standing, legacy of some sort of high speed movement quick enough to bedevil even her keen senses through the intervening darkness. It had all happened so quickly that if she were not her usual, paranoid self, Soi Fon might have thought she had imagined the whole thing. But she knew she hadn't. That man had been there, and he had been watching the town, and he obviously did not belong in the Rukongai, just by his style of dress. Was this perhaps another invasion by Ryoka? How was that man connected to the massacre in the town? And what were those corpse-creatures, and how had they come to be? So many questions, too few answers. Soi Fon stared into the darkness searchingly a while longer, but it held no answers for her. Then she too disappeared, without even a gust of snow from her footprints to mark her passing, as she began heading back to the Sereitei, pushing herself for speed as much as possible. For once in her life, the night no longer seemed quite as friendly as it once did...

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, 1st Division barracks, chambers of the Captain-General, January 13th, 5:12 am**

"Describe this man you saw, Captain Fon." Captain-General Yamamoto ordered, in his gravely and wisened voice that he so rarely used to string together more than a single phrase or sentence at a time. Only the most dire or joyous of circumstances could prompt him into speaking more than a few words at a time, unfortunately, this was much more the case of the former. Rarely had he ever seen his 2nd Division Captain so distraught, for lack of a better term, though only those who knew her well and had a keen eye for detail would notice her distress. Though the terms hysterical or spooked could never be reasonably applied to Captain Fon, she was nonetheless clearly bothered by what she had seen, and that was more than enough to encourage him to consider this situation truly grave. His slitted open eyes passed around the gathering of his Captains, and he was both proud and somewhat saddened to see them all so focused and intent. Truly the Winter War had hardened many of them before their time, and what would normally have engendered outbursts of rage and vitriol had now been greeted with little more than expectant silence and cold glares.

Even Shunsui, that irrepresible rascal, seemed to be discarding his playboy mein for the time being, an unusual scowl replacing his normal laconic expression, as Captain Fon explained in great detail the scene she had found at the town in the 56th District, and displayed the artifacts of evidence her squad had retrieved from the site. Young Captain Hitsugaya had looked briefly ill as the parchmentlike roll of freeze dried human skin with its incomprehenisble symbols painted in blood was unfurled and displayed by Captain Fon, but the youngest Captain had not requested to leave and had not reacted further, clearly retreating within a sense of detachment rather than risk letting his emotions get the better of him. He had even pointed out that it seemed clear that some of the symbols were a form of writing, forming words in some arcane and unknown tongue, in addition to the skull-like heraldric symbol. The letters were somewhat like those of some languages found in the Living World, such as "english", but the way they were arranged and used was different from english, and none of the Captains were an expert in Living World languages, so that was as far as the analysis could go on that particular topic.

Captain Kurotsuchi was all but drooling over the other samples that Captain Fon had retrieved from the massacre site, especially the pieces of corpse from the body that had apparently reanimated and killed one of Captain Fon's subordinates with monster-like teeth. That was also troubling to him, because the creature, according to Captain Fon, displayed no hallmarks of being a Hollow, lacking a mask or heart-hole, or even the spiritual energy of a Hollow, though she had recalled that the faint energy emitted was at least kin to the negative energy that Hollows used. Having only recently recovered from the last conflict involving creatures that were "kin" to Hollows, Yamamoto was not best pleased to find out that they might be on the verge of yet another conflict with an unknown foe with unknown but also unprecedented abilities. At least Captain Fon and her soldiers had caught this disturbance early, while it was yet still far from the Sereitei itself, that was the only saving grace to this disaster, as far as he was concerned.

"Of course, Captain-General, I was just coming to that." Soi Fon replied, marshalling her trained memory, which was close to photographic when she needed it to be. It would have been more convenient if she'd had one of Kurotsuchi's arcane picture recording devices with which to capture the scene, but perhaps it was better that her peers only had to experience the horror secondhand, through her careful and emotionless descriptions. She could see that Ukitake and Hitsugaya were feeling a little green around the gills as it was, and though Komamura was generally impertuable to her because of his anthromorphic wolf-like face, he too seemed to be all but simmering with rage, no less than expected from a man so caught up in a love affair with honor and justice themselves. Spirits only knew how they would have reacted to seeing it all first hand. A part of her wanted to scoff at their softness, but she wasn't quite that heartless. Innocence was a precious thing in Soul Society, stealing it from them was too cruel even for her to do unless there was no other choice.

"He was tall, perhaps as tall as Captain Kuchiki, and of relatively similar build, not excessively muscular though clearly not frail either. His skin tone, as best I could tell, was pale with the tanning color consistent with having spent a great deal of time outdoors, and his skin seemed either rough or more likely marked with a variety of small scars, much as anyone who spends time in battle will eventually accrue." Soi Fon forbore from mentioning that she herself had few such scars, merely because she was so fast she was rarely hurt in battle, at least, rarely hurt enough to scar later. His hair was brownish in color, a shade that I have not seen before except on humans in the Living World. Yet his spirit energy was clearly not that of a living creature, he was a Soul, like us. I could not get a good look at his eyes or other distinguishing facial features, though I will submit a sketch of his face as soon as the meeting is adjourned. He looked... different... than anyone I have ever seen before. Perhaps a different race of Souls? Do such things even exist?"

"Captain Kuchiki, Captain Korutsuchi?" Captain-General Yamamoto prompted, as Kuchiki and the 6th were responsible for historical records, and Korutsuchi was a surprising store of trivia on many matters. However, neither man looked to have the answer that the others were seeking at this point in time.

"I will order a search of divisional records and my family personal histories, but it will take time." Captain Kuchiki replied with a slight deepening of his trademark frown.

"Tch." Korutsuchi sneered, though nobody took real offense, Mayuri didn't have too many facial expressions beyond sneers, leers and maniacal grimaces. At least not that he displayed in public anyway. "I am not familiar with any subraces of Souls that would look physically different from the general specimens all around us. That is not to say they do not exist, merely that I have never encountered one. This could be quite intriuging..."

Seeing that her peers had nothing further to add, Soi Fon continued with her description. "His clothing was also of unfamiliar make and style. He did not wear a kimono or any variation upon a Soul Reaper uniform, nor did his garments appear to be made from silk or cotton or other cloth. If I had to venture a guess, I would say his clothing was primarily tanned leather of some sort, either painted or dyed black or dark brown. His main garment was a large, heavy looking coat of that leather, somewhat similar in cut to a Captain's haori but also more of a complete garment all its own rather than an accentuation. It featured what looked like buttons or ties along one flap, indicating to me that it could be closed to provide additional protection against elements or even attacks. It seemed to feature a variety of external pockets of varying size and utility as well. It may have been armored with some sort of metal chain links on the interior side, I could not get a clear glimpse. It has a high collar that covered him almost to the lower lips, reminescent of the short jacket worn by the Terca Espada during the final conflict in Fake Karakura Town." She explained, drawing on previous memories to help her peers accurately picture what she'd seen. Though she hoped that the men wouldn't get too caught up in the memories of the Terca Espada's rather expansive breasts that her jacket had studiously failed to entirely cover.

"He wore additional clothing beneath this armored coat, more dark fabrics, perhaps wool or cotton, though not in a style I was familiar with, including long trousers and a tunic of some sort. Perhaps slightly like the garments worn by the Quincy Ishida during the Ryoka Invasion prior to Aizen's betrayal, though this man's clothing was anything but white, rather it was dark black or brown or grey. Stealth tones." Soi Fon considered that, and combined with the man's speed and his apparent ability to evade her energy sensing skills and those of her soldiers, was forced to conclude the man must have been a spy or scout of some kind. And a fairly accomplished one too. Eyes narrowing, she continued with her description. "He carried no Zanpakuto that I could discern, and seemed armed only with what I might charitably call a large walking stick, though it was made of some sort of shiny, almost metallic substance that I am unfamiliar with. Perhaps something like that liquid metal that Captain Korutsuchi once showed us for a lark."

"Mercury is the term, Captain Fon. It's a metal that has a melting point below that of normal room temperatures, existing normally in a liquid state. It's very toxic stuff, causes hallucinations and dementia in living creatures in surprisingly small prolonged doses. It's also fairly rare, the only samples I've managed to get come from the Living World, I do not think it is naturally found in Soul Society." Mayuri chipped in, both helpful and disturbing at the same time, par for the course with him. "I highly doubt his cane was made of mercury, as unless it was frozen it has no structural strength, and when frozen it is too brittle to be used to bear weight or use as a tool or weapon. Not to mention it would poison his blood merely to hold it. No, that cannot be the case. It must be something else. This just keeps getting better and more interesting..."

"Other than what I have already said and noted about his stealth abilities and movement techniques, I have nothing further to add to my descriptions other than my own opinions." Soi Fon concluded, once Kurotsuchi was down with his tangent.

"And what would those be, Captain Fon?" Captain Ukitake asked respectfully, his eyes still slightly distant as he divorced himself from the descriptions of the atrocities that Soi had described, especially the treatement of the children. Joushiro Ukitake had always had a very soft spot for children, given that he was the elder sibling of a large family, and he would have no mercy nor pity for those who would do them harm.

"It is plain to see that the massacre was staged with the intent of being found, by either us or some other party." Soi Fon continued, after receiving the go ahead nod from the Captain-General. "This was not so much a crime as it was a violent message, a declaration or challenge even. Perhaps somewhat similar to the way a large and hungry predator will mark its hunting territory by gashing a tree or scratching a rock, something or someone has just left their mark on the Rukongai, declaring it for all to see that they consider it their property now, not ours, to do with as they see fit. The involvement of these strange not-Hollow monsters spawned from the corpses of the villagers, coupled with my sighting of a male figure that neither looks nor dresses like anyone any of us have ever encountered or seen before preturbs me greatly. There is too much we do not know, and furthermore, how could we miss the presence of a large force that could even committ this atrocity in the first place? I would estimate an attacking force of no less than twenty assailants, and more likely three or four times as many, to be responsible for the state of the town!"

"I agree with Captain Soi Fon's assessment of the situation. Clearly there has been a major failure in our security apparatus at some point in the past, perhaps during the chaos and confusion in the wake of the Winter War." Captain Kyoraku said, tilting his straw hat down over his eyes as he ruminated for a second or two. "This complicates things for us, it certainly does. How troublesome. Well, I guess there's nothing else for it, some sort of response is required, if nothing else, we need more information, desperately."

"Then it is decided..." Captain-General Yamamoto intoned, once he saw that his Captains were in agreement, indeed, all but twitching with the desire to tackle this problem before it could grow any worse. "I am declaring a new state of emergency for the entire Sereitei until this issue is brought to a satisfactory close. All Court Guard companies are ordered to be on full alert, war footing, and I want patrols in the Rukongai to be doubled in strength and frequency for the immediate future. We have a duty to protect those Souls, even if their assailants are not Hollows. Captain Fon will provide us with her drawing then we will adjourn and reconvene tomorrow evening to discuss the day's findings." He announced further, and then leveled a gimlet eye at his most troublesome Captain, Kenpachi Zaraki. "Unathorized forays into Rukongai by those of fifth seat and above will not be allowed or tolerated at this time. We cannot afford to spread our forces out piecemeal when we don't even know the nature of this threat."

"You're no fun, old man." Zaraki replied with a tectonic shrug of his shoulders and a unhappy look on his face. "Is that all, or can we go now? I get bored when I don't got any actual targets to kill."

"There is nothing further. You are dismissed to your duties." Yamamoto answered, satisfied that his point had been made. He would probably have to make it again at that evening's meeting, but he was used to such methods when dealing with Zaraki. Honestly, sometimes it was less like he was leading his Captains as he was herding them like overly willful cats.

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, 10th Division Headquarters, January 13th, 7:15 am**

Captain Toushiro Hitsugaya, the youngest man to ever become a Soul Reaper and a Captain, was feeling every short year of his life as he eased himself down on the couch that he kept in his office. He almost never used this couch, it was ostensibly placed there for any visitors or guests that might need a place to sit for whatever reason, and realistically Matsumoto, his lazy Vice-Captain, spent a good portion of each day snoozing on it rather than doing anything helpful, such as her actual job. However, Matsumoto wasn't in yet, since she'd had the night to sleep, unlike him, who had been woken up at an ungodly hour for the emergency Captain's meeting and hadn't been able to go back to sleep afterwards, so the couch was free. He tilted his head against the backrest and wished he could just let his eyes drift closed for a short nap, but he didn't dare. Both because Matsumoto would do something humiliating to him if she happened to catch him sleeping on her couch, and more pressingly, because if he closed his eyes, his overactive and all too vivid imagination would start placing images there in response to what Captain Fon had described as seeing at the village in the 56th District!

Though she had delivered her report in her usual clinical and dry tone, revealing no hint of whatever emotional response was boiling beneath the surface of her thoughts, even such a detached recital of facts had been enough to turn his stomach, so much that if it weren't in front of all the other Captains, he might have bowed out and find a restroom to puke his dinner out into. He didn't know if the others had this problem, but his imagination was all too good at conjuring up images of the mutilated and abused bodies, the scent of frozen gore, the sound of the flayed skin flapping in the breeze... only by retreating into a near trance with Hyoinmaru had he managed to shake it off before he did something unforgivably childish. Every day of his professional life was a battle against the image of him as being immature and too young for his position, but for once he'd realized that he really was young and unprepared in some ways for the horror of what one Soul could inflict upon another.

He had thought he would be jaded to things like that, since he'd grown up persecuted and despised by almost everyone else in his town in the 1st District of the Rukongai, save for Granny and Momo, but the abuse he suffered through looked like little more than the friendly hazing some divisions put their new recruits through for initiation ceremonies in comparison to the bloodbath that had been unleased in the 56th District! What had happened to him had been mean and emotionally scarring... what had happened to them had been evil and far more than just scarring! Hitsugaya palmed his face, feeling sweat standing out on his brow, as he massaged his face trying to clear away the bad memories.

"I know that pose." An unwelcomely cheerful voice commented from the doorway. Matsumoto. Great. Just what he didn't need. "Someone's got a BEASTLY hangover, don't they, Captain? How late did you and Momo stay up last night? Things musta got pretty wild... I want ALL the details!"

"No. Simply no. To all of it." Hitsugaya replied irritably, slowly taking his hand away from his face, feeling an all new headache start to come on. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just insinuate what I didn't just hear you insinuate, because I am SO not in the mood for such utter crap right now, I can't even express it properly! Momo and I did not get drunk together last night and NOTHING crazy or wild or interesting to the likes of YOU happened, so just lay off, alright?"

"Oooh, someone's grouchy this morning. Not get a goodbye kiss after rolling out of bed?" Rangiku could not help but needle her too touchy Captain further. He didn't leave himself this open very often after all.

"Matsumoto, I am warning you, do not push me right now. I just got a whole bunch of bad news at an emergency meeting that kept me from getting more than three hours of sleep last night, and I don't need this friviolous BULLSHIT RIGHT NOW!" Hitsugaya yelled the last three words, his voice echoing around the office as Matsumoto froze in mid stride and gave him a surprised and almost hurt look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to blow up at you." Hitsugaya apologized with a sigh, rubbing his scalp self consciously. "Its just that, well, the news was REALLY bad and things are about to get complicated again and I was really hoping we wouldn't have more crap like this happen so soon after the Winter War was over. I still don't feel like we've really recovered from it..."

"Well..." Matsumoto carefully eyed her pint sized Captain and decided that perhaps she could treat him to some real seriousness for once, he looked like he needed someone to talk to. She pulled up the little used chair from behind her desk and plopped down in it in front of him. "Why don't you tell me about it then? Don't keep it all to yourself, Captain, its obvious that its bothering you."

"I can't tell you about it, Matsumoto." Toushiro replied woodenly, almost gagging as his thoughts tried to go back to those conjured images.

"Captain-General told you to stay mum huh? That's inconvenient. How about charades then? I'm good at guessing things..."

"NO! Not charades. Never charades, not for this!" Toushiro flinched from the mere idea of acting out such things. "I haven't been ordered to stay silent, I just don't want to revisit what I was just told, okay? I feel like I'm going to vomit as it is! Somehow I'm supposed to brief the entire division on this matter in another thirty minutes, and I can't even bear to think about it!" He looked at his busty, overly friendly and far too relaxed Vice-Captain, and had to fight a real, aberrant urge to ask for a hug. His pride would never allow such a thing though, not from Rangiku Matsumoto anyway. Though perhaps Momo might be of some succor in that regard. Just thinking about his childhood friend, who had recently become more than that, was enough to calm him down a little bit. A personal relationship, even with someone he cared for as much as Momo, had never been in his plans, certainly not this early in his life and career, but after nearly losing her twice to Aizen's treachery, he wasn't prepared to wait any more. Some things were too precious to chance losing when he had the opportunity to enjoy them now, and might not in the future.

Besides, it had been obvious that Momo herself had been floundering in the wake of the Winter War, cast adrift from all that she had formerly held as constant in her life, her mind confused and addled and betrayed by Aizen's manipulations, both hypnotic and emotional. Toushiro still lay awake some nights, trembling as he heard Momo accusingly ask him way he'd tried to kill her in the Fake Karakura Town, while he'd been under the influence of Aizen's Total Hypnosis power. He'd stabbed her right through the chest, just barely missing her heart, and she was already badly hurt even before that. The look of utter betrayal on her face had stabbed him with a pain that couldn't have been any less than the physical wound he'd given her, and though of course she'd forgiven him... Momo always forgave him, and too easily... he didn't think he'd get over that look for a LONG time. He would gladly kill Aizen a thousand times over, helpless prisoner or not, for making him put that look on Momo's face! But in seeing that she was lost, he'd finally realized that he could still help her, by providing something for her to latch onto until she could get her feet under her once again.

It wasn't easy, and the good intentioned but still embarassing encouragement and teasing from his friends and subordinates didn't help matters much, but he and Momo had managed to at least build a semblance of a relationship, helped by spending so much time together in a professional capacity, now that the bulk of the 5th was seconded to the 10th for the time being, while it was determined whether to rebuild the tarnished division or disband it and distrubute the members to other divisions and start from scratch with a entirely new 5th Division. Toushiro wasn't sure which solution he favored, on one hand he knew Momo and many other 5th Divisioners were loyal and capable Shinigami that had merely been tricked, just as everyone else had, by Aizen. On the other, they were unquestionably tainted by association, and only a complete dissolution and reassignment could ever really banish that taint, and there didn't seem to be anyone jumping to take the spot of 5th Division Captain at the moment. Momo was still Vice-Captain, but she was still very much struggling with her personal issues, and didn't have much time to spare for her Division, which meant much more paperwork for him, but for her sake, it was no serious burden.

And contrary to popular belief and supposition, his and Momo's relationship, while undeniably romantic, was not yet intimate, nor did either of them plan to take things to that level so quickly. Yes, they did spend time together in private, and even sometimes slept together, but it was for mutual comfort and company only! Not that he really expected the crew of perverts and scandal-seekers that Matsumoto liked to hang out with to understand something so sublime as a non-physical loving relationship! He'd slept with Momo more times that he could remember when growing up with her after all, it wasn't like this was strange or new or different or especially lewd! Even if she was rather more developed now than she had been back then, even if the difference probably wasn't noticable to most people. He certainly had noticed, could not fail to notice and did not care to not notice... it was actually something of a relief to regard her with more than just friendly admiration, and he privately wondered just how long his attraction to Momo had been headed towards more than "just friends".

"That bad, huh?" Matsumoto commented, with more uncharacteristic seriousness. Then again, ever since Gin Ichimaru's death and sort of redemption at the close of the Winter War, she herself hadn't been nearly as carefree as she once had been. Toushiro just nodded in reply. It was that bad. So bad he felt soiled just thinking about it. They sat there in a not so uncomfortable silence for a time, before a soft and familiar tread from out in the hall announced the arrival of none other than Momo Hinamori herself, Vice-Captain of 5th Division, subordinated to 10th. Shooting Matsumoto a warning glare to keep her trap firmly shut so as to not upset Momo, Toushiro smoothed his face of any outward signs of stress and worry, and didn't have to make much effort to cause a glad smile to cross his face as Momo stepped into the room after politely knocking and requesting permission to enter, still observing formalities he had time and again told her were unnecessary between them. Well, whatever made her happy, he guessed.

Of course she ruined it a few moments later by grinning back. "Good morning Shiro-chan. I hope you slept well. I certainly did." Momo commented, her words, though innocent, causing Matsumoto to all but choke to death on restrained giggles as her too filthy mind filled in all sorts of reasons for why Momo might have slept so well. Toushiro felt his eyebrow twitch a few times as Matsumoto had her little laugh, but did not deign to rise to the teasing. He even decided not to protest, for once, the use of that most hated nickname Momo had coined for him long ago. Just because she was a few years older than him, didn't mean that she could refer to him by such a cutesy moniker! At least, that was how he'd felt prior to the end of the Winter War. Now, he didn't so much care what she called him, as long as she would talk to him and stay with him.

"It wasn't... I slept okay." Toushiro said, hedging his original sentence, hoping Momo wouldn't be awake enough to catch his slip. He really ought to have known better by now, there were no two people in all the world that knew him better than these two women right here, except maybe Granny, and even she didn't see him as often as Momo and Matsumoto did. Her smile turning into a pusing of her lips, Momo fixed him with a "fess up" look, and when that didn't work, she moved to sit by him on the couch and put a hand on his chest to hold him in place when he tried to get up. He could have stood anyway, but that wasn't the point. Momo wanted him to stay. He stayed.

"Now tell me what's wrong, Toushiro." Momo ordered sternly. "And don't even bother trying to dodge my question, I know all your tells, I'll know the moment you try and stretch the truth or fib." She reminded him, causing him to close his mouth and scowl, swallowing his attempt to assure her nothing was wrong. He ignored Matsumoto making whipcracking noises in the background, and stared Momo in the eyes.

"It's bad. So bad I don't want to have to say it twice. I'm going to make an announcement to the divisions at the morning assembly, you can find out then. Please, just trust me on this, Momo. I don't want to tell you. I wish I hadn't heard myself. The entire world feels a little less clean and safe now that I've heard this news. But the entire Sereitei is going on full alert, war footing status, so I don't have any choice but to explain the reasons why. But to speak of such things here, in my office... I can't tolerate the idea. Its too foul for words." Toushiro explained, begging her with his eyes to understand. Fortunately, she was good at recognizing when he was being childishly stubborn and grown up stubborn.

"Okay then, Toushiro, we'll wait." Momo replied, in utmost seriousness. Then, apparently deciding that the current somber atmosphere wasn't to her liking, she hugged him, hard and close. Caught off guard, Toushiro did the first thing that came to mind, and hugged her back. It felt good. Not quite as good as an erased memory and a full night's sleep perhaps, but a very close second. Even Matsumoto's "Awww..." exclamation wasn't enough to sully how good it felt, though he did shoot her a icy glare worthy of Hyoinmaru himself nonetheless. "Don't stress out so much, Shiro-chan, we'll beat this too. I know we will." Momo said encouragingly, brushing the tip of his nose with her lips before she pulled away, both of them flushing a bit pink, Toushiro far more than Momo, as Matsumoto hooted and hollered fit to shame a convent of nuns.

"Right then, Matsumoto..." Toushiro said at length, recovering his wits and his poise from Momo's display of affection. "You seem to have lots of energy this morning, and its obvious you don't have a hangover and aren't sick, judging from how you are acting, so why don't you put some of that energy to good use and get a head start on our paperwork for today. I need to go prepare my speech and all that stuff. Momo can assist me."

"Captain, that's not fair!" Matsumoto complained, looking aghast at the piles of paperwork all but covering both desks. She shot her superior an arch look as he began to lead Momo out the door by one hand. "You're leaving me to do all this work while you go off and snuggle with your girlfriend? Captain, that's a blatant..."

"And fully acceptable delegation of my power as CAPTAIN of the 10th division, isn't it, VICE-CAPTAIN Matsumoto?" Toushiro filled in for her with a steady look. "You don't like being ordered around by me to my advantage every once and a while? I hear they're still looking for new Captains for the 9th and 3rd Divisions. I could put in a good word for you at the next meeting... of course you'd have to train really hard to get your Bankai first, but I could put you through the wringer, I mean, I could help you train if you wanted to put forth the effort..."

"You've become a cruel man recently, Captain." Matsumoto commented mournfully.

"No, Shiro-chan's just in love, and now has more appreciation for taking personal time off from work." Momo answered for him.

"Momo..." Toushiro commented irritably, blushing again. Well, it wasn't like it wasn't true after all...


	4. Steel Dawn

Author Note: Well, onwards and upwards as they say. I'm really on fire with this shit for some reason. I'm having a blast and I haven't even hardly begun... thats a good sign. Enough of the setup, its time to start kicking things off a little bit. For this chapter and maybe parts of the next chapter, there will be scenes involving both the Eastern Soul Reapers, aka Shinigami, and the Western Soul Reapers, called Crusaders, but with an important note. Shinigami speak a form of Japanese, but Crusaders converse in an archaic mixture of several Romance languages as well as a hefty bit of Latin. There is a definite language barrier between the two sides here, but I'm not going to make one side speak in gibberish because that wouldn't be any fun for you, the readers. So for this chapter and other parts until a certain and very obvious plot point is reached (a translation device of some sort), anything said in Shinigami language will be regular text like "Normal", and anything said in Crusader language will be in **"Bold"**, to differentiate between who is saying what, and more importantly who is understanding what. Do note that until the translation device is made, neither side can comprehend anything that is being said in the other's language, other than what they can infer from tone, facial expressions and postures. That said, prepare for some hilarity and some tension, as the chapters starts now...

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, 8th Division Headquarters, January 13th, 8:10 am**

Shunsui Kyoraku was a peaceful and sedentary man by nature, perfectly content to while away most days in indolent relaxation, a cup of fine sake in one hand, and a beautiful woman within arms reach of the other, even if said beautiful woman had a very definite "hands off" policy towards him, for reasons he pretended never to understand. He didn't so much hate the concept of work so much as he did the concept of effort... if work didn't take effort, he'd be glad to do it. He had the same approach to conflict and fighting... as long as he wasn't really expected or needed to put in actual effort towards winning a battle or affecting the outcome of a situation, he was happy. Which wasn't to say that he wouldn't put in effort when it was required, such as against the Espada, he just preferred not to. Life was too short, even for a Shinigami that could live for thousands of years, to waste time taking everything so seriously all the time.

Unfortunately, this was looking like it was shaping up to be one of those times where actual effort on his part was not only asked for, but actually necessary. Joushiro was on the warpath ever since the early morning emergency meeting, and Shunsui had to admit that he himself was feeling a little fired up as well. It wasn't like he had no idea about the horrors of war and conflict... he'd seen more than his share of both in the many centuries he'd been Captain of the 8th... the violence and the abuse Souls could inflict upon each other was nothing new or shocking to him. What was disturbing were the reports of outsiders of some sort being responsible. A new type of Hollow... that was no big deal. Renegade Shinigami of some sort? Been there, done that. Completely unknown outsiders, with a style of dress and look that even old Yama-jii didn't know about? That was a major concern. Especially if they were going to go around slaughtering townsfolk and butchering them like geese in a market for no good reason. That just wasn't done, not in the Soul Society anyway.

Dear Nanao had already commented this morning on his unusual display of focus and attention for his duties as a Captain, somewhich which she had even gone so far as to call "uncharacteristic" of him. She was in a grouchier than usual mood for some reason. Perhaps it was her time of the month, though to be fair, Nanao was mean to him regardless of the time of the month. Eh, he didn't mind. He needed a strong female presence in his life, because he never felt much need to listen to anyone else, except Yama-jii on occasion, if Nanao wasn't there to tantalize and smack him, he really would never get any work done. So he'd bitten back his by now favorite retort that the only thing uncharacteristic of him would be to have a characteristic in the first place, and merely gave her a level look and said "It's for Joushiro." which was the end of that particular tete-a-tete.

His friend really loved kids, his Zanpakuto even appeared in his inner world as a pair of kids, and he was taking the news of the children's tortured deaths very poorly. He was getting so worked up about it that his illness was aggravated, and he'd already been remanded into Retsu's care for sedation and monitoring after he almost collapsed during his division's morning muster. Poor Joushiro, if there was ever a man who didn't deserve such a debilitating condition, it was him. Shunsui would have taken the disease into himself in a heartbeat if he could have... the idea of being pampered and waited on hand and foot by beautiful nurses most days was not exactly a nightmare of his after all. Though the coughing up blood part was kind of a drag, he would imagine. But because Joushiro was incapacitated by circumstances beyond his control, Shunsui was going to step up in his friend's stead and do his best to prosecute this situation with the same kind of focus and vitriol that Joushiro would have. And if Joushiro happened to foot the bill for thext few years of drunken parties out of gratefulness for this kind act, well, Shunsui would not argue with that.

Explaining the situation and reasoning for the sudden step back up to war footing to his own division had not been overly hard or stressful for him. By now, all but the freshest recruits knew better than to expect much in the way of details from him during one of his rare public addresses, he pretty much just told them that they were on war footing once more and that he was relying on them to do their best and standard motivational crap like that. If they wanted to learn what was going on, they could ask friends in other divisions or he would gently reveal details to his seated officers in a private gathering, with lots of strong drink, and let rumors and facts disseminate from there. It encouraged everyone to be much more sociable, rather than just relying on facts being handed to them. Shunsui loved socializing, and he wanted his subordinates to enjoy it too, so he gave them every opportunity to engage in it during business hours. It drove Nanao up the walls, but it was a very effective method of passive leadership, his favorite type of leadership.

His major tasks completed for the day, barely an hour after starting them, Shunsui located a nice jug of prime sake that Nanao had not managed to conceal or dispose of well enough and was preparing to decant and savor a few cups in order to get back into his usual swing of things when he was interrupted by a Hell Butterfly. It was one of the new ones, the ones that were black and orangey-yellow, instead of black and purpley-red, a new breed of the useful messenger insects created by Captain Mayuri in the wake of the Winter War. The orangey-yellow ones didn't have to touch their recipient to give their message, and they didn't do so via mind to mind communication, but rather functioned like portable loudspeakers and broadcast their message at varying volume to a wide area. This made them very hard to ignore, as well as more effective at giving wide scale orders to large groups at a time.

"EMERGENCY ALERT, EMERGENCY ALERT!" The insect blared, entirely too loud for this or any other time of day. "Kidou Corps has detected a surge of spiritual energy forming outside the North Sereitei gate, in Rukongai District 1. Potential unathorized Senkaimon gate being opened in Rukongai District 1. All non-tasked personnel and officers of 5th seat and above are ordered to deploy to the northern walls immediately, on a war footing! EMERGENC..." The insect splattered sadly against the far wall of his office, and Shunsui figured he might have playfully batted it just a bit too hard. At least it shut up.

"My, my..." He complained, standing up and dusting off his pink flowered kimono in annoyance. "How troublesome. Interrupting a man just as he's about to have a drink. These outsiders have no sense of manners." He perched his straw sunhat upon his head and began making his way sedately towards the northern wall. Wouldn't do to seem in a rush, couldn't have the rank and file thinking they were actually worried about this unplanned event. And besides, it was a beautiful day for a stroll...

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, Northern Gate wall, 5 minutes later**

"What the HELL kind of Senkaimon gate is THAT?" Renji Abarai, long serving Vice-Captain of 6th Division, commented with a cocked eye and a questioning sneer as he waved a hand at the spirit energy construct slowly taking form a few hundred yards away on the main thoroughfare leading up to the Sereitei's north gate complex. Zabimaru was already released into their shikai form, the oversized, toothed blade resting comfortingly across his shoulders. About half of his bravado was just Renji being Renji, but the rest was there to mask his own uncertainty and allay the misgivings of the unranked Shinigamithat clustered on the wall top around him, turning their thoughts towards derision rather than uncertainty. Hey, you didn't serve as a Vice-Captain under Byakuya Kuchiki for a few decades and not pick up a few worthwhile tactics for dealing with people!

Though it certainly wasn't a Senkaimon gate of any sort that he was used to seeing! It wasn't like the Garganta the Espada and Arrancar had used in the Winter War, no gaping rent in the fabric of reality, like some huge had just unzipped a portion of the world like it was a jacket, but it bore little to no resemblence to the Senkaimon gates he had passed through more times than he could easily count. It wasn't a mock up of any sort of door or gate type that he recognized, and there didn't seem to even be a hint of bamboo or paper sheeting in the construction at all. There was wood... boy was there EVER wood, huge, thick vertical planks of it as tall as five tall men standing on each other's shoulders, and there was what looked like some kind of stone, a dark grey rock utterly unlike the pale stones used to construct the Sereitei, which formed a frame for the wooden planks. There was also a large metal contraption of some sort, built of iron bars as thick as his arm arrayed in a criss cross fashion, a row of ten vertical bars cross at perpendicular angles by eleven horizontal bars, built in front of the towering wooden planks. It almost looked like a big ass sewer grate or something. He'd never seen anything like it.

Judging from the confused looks and whispering going on around him, he wasn't the only person to be so baffled. More and more people were arriving on the walltops with every passing second, the echoes of the PA Hell butterflies still audible from nearby sectors of the Sereitei, and even the spacious walltop ramparts were beginning to get a bit crowded. Seeing one particular group arrive, Renji tensed his legs and leapt over the crowd to alight near them, drawing a cheerful wave from Rangiku and at least a nod of acknowledgement from Captain Hitsugaya, who had Momo clutching his arm like he was a teddy bear. Renji forbore commenting on this, both because Captain Hitsugaya could bend him into a human pretzel, and a frozen one at that, bankai or no bankai, but more because there were bigger matters at hand than teasing the young captain about his girlfriend. Hey, if Renji didn't enjoy flirting with danger, he never would have joined 11th division back in the day, would he?

After repeating his earlier question, basically tone perfect, and getting no more enlightenment from Captain Hitsugaya than he had the unseated Shinigami before, much to his disgruntlement, Renji reverted to staring at the odd gate, his hand tense on Zabimaru's hilt. He wasn't the only one to have a released Zanpakuto out, the message did say arrive on a war footing after all. So far, Captain Hitsugaya, Captain Fon and his own Captain seemed to be the only ones in attendance, despite the Hell Butterflies. Captain Kurotsuchi was probably deep in a lab somewhere, but nobody was going to miss him anyway, at least, Renji never would, not after that bad experience in Las Noches! And both Captain Unohana and Ukitake were at the 4th Division barracks, where the former was treating the latter for a flare up of his illness. Who knew where Captain Komamura or Kyoraku were, and as for Captain Zaraki, he was probably lost and they would all be better off for...

"That's a funny looking gate." Kenpachi Zaraki commented loudly, appearing on the top of the wall a few dozen feet away and glaring with disdain at the large spirit portal that was beginning to look like it was finally done constructing itself, the incanters on the other side plainly nearing the end of their spellcasting.

_Well, so much for that idea. I guess even he can't get lost so easily when the message very definitely says, "go to the north gate". Even Yachiru would have had trouble messing that up. Probably._ Renji thought to himself. Oh well, if the guys coming through this gate ended up hostile, then they were going to have a very nasty surprise when the Captain of the 11th fell on them like a ton of bricks armed with straight razors. And then the skin on the back of his neck started crawling and feeling hot, and he realized that the Captain-General himself had arrived, though he was staying back a bit, not obviously standing out from any of the other Captains just yet, unless you were familiar with the feel of his blazing spiritual energy, like standing next to a roaring furnance! Well then, one taste of Ryujin Jakka and these invaders were going to be going home in crispy chicken buckets...

Further conversation and speculation was stilled as the odd gate finished its construction and began to rumble, with a sound like huge gears turning out of sight. Slowly, so slowly at first that Renji had to look twice before he noticed it, the latticework of iron bars began to lift upwards, retracting into the ceiling of the portal construct, revealing that the bottom sections of each of the vertical bars were made from wickedly pointed speartips that were sunk deep into the ground. Now that he saw it in motion, Renji vaguely recalled seeing something like this on a tv show in the Living World. What was it called again? A portipotty? No... a porticlass? Ah, that was it, a porticullis! They were used to block entry to castles of some sort, as some sort of additional security precaution beyond just big doors. The porticullis rattled and clanked until it was fully withdrawn into the infinite ceiling of the gate construct, even the wicked speartips sinking into slots in the ceiling, as the main wooden doors began to open next.

But unlike all the doors Renji was familiar with, this one didn't open on either the left or right hinges, but instead just fell straight down, like it had been kicked out of its lintel by some titanic force! It wasn't until he heard more rattling and clanking of gears and chains, and saw that the door was being lowered, not dropped, that he realized it wasn't actuall a door, but a drawbridge! Of course there was no moat or trench for it to cross, but a drawbridge it was! It finally slammed down onto the roadway several seconds after it began moving, raising a brief lived cloud of dust, revealing a yawning black portal that was quickly filled with a blazing bright light of multiple hues, chiefly blues and reds and golds. And then things took a turn for the even more bizarre, as Renji could clearly hear the sounds of some sort of marching band or something coming from the gate, trumpets and horns and at least one drum beating a steady, brisk military tattoo. The Shinigami of the Gotei 13 did not march or parade, but Renji had seem such things in Living World media, so he wasn't quite as stunned as some of the others when the users of the gate finally came into view.

Which was kind of like saying that he wasn't "quite" as wet after only being sprayed with a firehose for three seconds, versus five, because he was still staring with dropped jaw and wide eyes as the outsiders came into clear view for the first time. First off, there was a LOT of them... the gate itself was easily wide enough for ten men to march abreast without touching the sides, and march abreast they did, their footsteps perfectly in time to the drumbeat, metal shod feet slamming into the ground in perfect lockstep, the tromping sound clearly audible throughout the surrounding area. It was more than just a little bit intimidating, actually. It didn't help that the marchers were encased from head to toe in gleaming metal plates that were obviously some kind of armor, inlaid with silver and gold in fantastic patterns, huge plumes of vibrant bird's feathers flying from the tops of their full face and head enclosing helms, with masks carved into visages of beautifically smiling children's faces. Though it was actually the massive two handed straight bladed greatswords that the first rank held in both hands, raised vertically in front of him, metal polished to a mirror sheen, that caught Renji's eyes the most.

If he was seeing things correctly, if those were Zanpakuto, or something like it, they were still totally sealed... but they were also almost five feet long and as broad as his palm! That was almost as big as fricking Shikai Zangetsu! If that corresponded to their spiritual pressure, those guys were no fucking joke! And they were only the first rank! Successive ranks, armored just as heavily and even more ornately if that was possible, marched in close order behind the greatswords, some of them blowing horns, others bearing tall standard poles tipped with spearpoints and sometimes offset axe-like blades on the top of the shaft, the poles being three times the height of a man with banners almost two thirds that length draping from them, snapping in a false breeze generated from the far side of the portal. None of the heraldric symbols or writing on the banners were familiar to Renji, they didn't look anything at all like the writing he was used to! The predominant symbol was a pure white field with red and golden cross shapes on it, but there plenty of others... a dark blue field with crossed red swords, a dull black field with no device, a silver banner with golden merchant's scales on it, and a varient on the main banner, white with gold and crimson crosses, with a silver crown studded with sapphires rampant across them.

Visually impressive as this was, it was still only the tip of the formation. Following the rows of marching heralds and greatswords came more units of soldiers, their armor plainer but not less strange to the Shinigami for lack of gilt and glitter, men and women wearing coats of linked chains and overlapping scales, all brightly polished or stained a dull red, with flying capes and cloaks and tabards of blue with the crimson crossed swords on them... plainly some sort of unit insignia. They favored no particular style of weapon, other than most of them were big and wicked looking, axes, spears, swords, even clubs, along with some that wore what looked like multiple weapons. Their marching effort was looser than that of the heralds, but still more unified than a similar group of Shinigami probably would have been. Behind them came what looked like the main section of the procession, forwarded by a group of men and women clad in loose flowing white robes with tall, pointed cloth hoods covering their faces, crimson or gold crosses painted across the face part of the hood, who chanted an incomprehensible, sonorous mantra in unison as they swung what looked like small flails trailing scented smoke back and forth, creating a thin mist of fumes for those behind to pass through, like the outside world was too stinky for their nostrils or something!

Behind the priests or whatever the people in the pointy hats were came another sight that was all but unheard of in the Sereitei and the Rukongai... warriors mounted upon horses, and what horses they were too! They were monstrously large, as tall as Zaraki at the shoulder, and built with the muscle mass of any three riding horses Renji had ever seen on Captain Kuchiki's estate! And they obviously needed this muscle, because like their riders, they were heavily armored in gleaming plates of thick metal, engraved with various symbols and runes and polished to a mirror bright sheen, even down to segments of metal covering their necks and encasing their heads, crowned with spikes and angled protrusions and decorative fright masks of their own. Their riders were all large men, carrying what looked like huge, iron shod spears in one hand, and holding broad slabs of wood and metal painted in the colors of silver with gold merchant scales upon them, matching their cloaks and tabards as well. In addition to their lances, the mounted riders wore a variety of more personal weapons, spiked maces, swords and other tools of warfare, some of them unlike anything the Sereitei had ever seen, such as crowbills or morning star flails. There were easily three dozen of these mounted super-warriors, and they almost seemed to make the ground tremble under the weight of their advance.

The mounted warriors were escorting a large wagon or wheeled conveyance of some sort, more like a small house on wheels, pulled by a team of eight of the gargantuan horses in two rows of four, which gave some clue as to just how massive the wagon and the walled edoubt or esidence built upon it actually was. More flags flew from the eaves of this stagecoach, its dark wood sides inlaid with gold and gems in intricate and artistic designs... clearly whomever it belonged to was both extremely wealthy and extremely important in some way. The tallest banner flying from the stagecoach was a repeat of the crowned crosses on white field seen earlier, with the golden scales on a silver field flag flying in subordinate position directly below. It was just a guess, but Renji was gonna say that the guys in silver and gold were part of the military leader's unit, and that whoever was in the coach was in turn in charge of him. And people said he was slow on the uptake... not when it came to the military!

By this point in time, the initial row of marching greatswords was almost two thirds of the way towards the now firmly shut northern gate of the Sereitei, and showed no signs of stopping their march. They moved like they were automatons of some sort, living dolls fully prepared to walk forward until they smashed their faces into the gates, and given the surety of their steps, Renji found hismelf doubting for a moment whether it would be the gate that was knocked down or them! None of the Shinigami, even normally unflappable sorts like Captain Kuchiki, seemed to quite know what to do when presented with this obviously very ceremonial entrance. This didn't feel like an attack so much as it did an occasion of state, and for a second, Renji almost felt underdressed, showing up in his day to day fighting clothes rather than full ceremonial getup, which he hadn't worn for more than a century! He shook off the sensation a little bit later, but he could see he wasn't the only one affected... it was a good tactic, showing up better dressed than the home team, putting them off their stride right from the get go.

More of the unknown warriors were moving out of the gate behind the stagecoach, their armor and insignia nothing more than plain black fields, and for the first time, the Shinigami were able to get a glimpse of the faces of the unknown warriors, as these soldiers wore little in the way of headgear other than occasional hooded cloaks or half masks, similar to those worn by the ninja of the Special Operation's squad. Yet there were more than enough who were bareheaded and bare faced fo enji, as well as anyone else that had been paying attention to Captain Kuchiki's detailed briefing of less than an hour ago, accompanied by the hand drawn picture from Captain Soi Fon, to recognize them as the same race as the guy from the sketch! Their faces were oddly shaped, their eyes more rounded rather than folded at the ends, and their features just seemed coarser or more open. Beards were prevalent on many men, some quite long and full, and both men and women alike wore their hair long and usually straight, and they had a riot of hair colors, red, blond, brown, black and grey, unlike the Shinigami who were mostly dark haired with a few exceptions, such as Kira or Renji or Captain Hitsugaya. The men themselves just seemd slightly physically larger overall as well, and their armor just made them look bigger.

Renji tried to make a quick count of the soldiers, but gave up when he realized the number was well over a hundred, maybe even over two hundred, and there were still some troops moving out of the gate! Ceremonial procession or not, there was now a small army arrayed outside the Sereitei gates and still, nobody had the slightest fucking clue who these guys were, how they got here, or why they were here. The procession continued forward, before finally stopping with a final clash of armored feet only a few scant yards from the North Gate itself, a shocking silence suddenly descending upon the area as the horns and drums and clanking tromp of marching feet finally died away, and seemingly all at once. Not a single one of the greatswords or the heralds twitched a muscle, or even appeared to breathe, though some of the warriors behind were not quite so perfect in their discipline, which was a small relief. These guys weren't perfect.

Then Renji was gaping again, as, without warning and in perfect lockstep, the greatswords took a single step forward, letting out a fierce yell as they dropped to one kneed, their sword tips now firmly planted in the dust, all happening totally in unison as they split into two files of five, forming a tunnel of kneeling armored bodies down which a man wearing plate armor crafted from what looked like solid gold inlaid with rubies and sapphires in cross like designs came striding forward, a long white cloak tailing behind him, bearing the emblem of the golden scales beneath a silver crown. A long, one handed and straight bladed sword was buckled at his waist, and he carried a hefty silver shield bossed with another emblem of the merchant's scales in gold on the front. His helmet was done up in the image of a female face wearing a blindfold, with tall plumes of pure white feathers almost a foot long jutting in a crest from the top of the helm. He was so goddamn bright in the morning sunlight that it was physically hard to look at him! Still, his poise itself declared that this was no mere functionary, but a real warrior who knew very well the power of an overwhelmingly strong first impression.

The warrior in gold stopped just shy of the gate, and for a long, half comical second, Renji thought the guy was actually gonna reach out and knock on the doors, but he didn't do that, he was merely reaching up to unbuckle his helm, which he slowly, majestically doffed and cradled under the crook of his non-shield bearing arm. This burdened both of his hands and made it impossible for him to draw a weapon, a subtle gesture that was not missed by those with an eye for detail and political decorum amongst the Shinigami. The man... young man, he couldn't have been older than his early 190's, or 19-20 in human years... shook his shoulder length dark brown hair into a semblance of order, and looked up challengingly at the walltop and the Shinigami clustered there with his piercing, blue-violet eyes. His countenance was handsome enough, even oddly shaped as it was, to make several unattached female Shinigami sigh softly before they caught themselves in embarassment.

**"Greetings to you, noble people, I am Duke of Order, Alyster Fane, of his Rex Divinia's most holy Imperium Animi Crusade Army, Order Squadron. I speak for her imperial Highness and third in line to the throne of the Rex Divinia, the most worthy Princess Lacus DeCirc, his divine majesty's hand chosen envoy to your backwater and primitive land! I request that you unbarr this gate and summon your council of lords to meet with her Highness and her chosen counselers at the earliest possible convenience. We mean you no harm, but we will not tolerate any hindrance or disrespect towards her Highness, as we are on a mission of the utmost importance for his holiness, the Rex Divinia! I am waiting for your reply!"** The beautific young man in the golden armor bellowed with a parade ground voice, easily carrying to all the Shinigami on the wall. Which was all well and good, save that none of them understood a single word he said. None of them had even heard his type of language before, couldn't even get a good feel for syntax and vocabulary. Long moments passed as the Shinigami on the wall looked at each other and then at their Captains, who were in turn looking to the Captain-General for direction, and the golden armored young man continued to stare expectantly up at them, his face composed and showing no signs of impatience or worry.

Finally, the uneasy stalemate was broken as Soi Fon, seeing that the Captain-General was determined to sit and mull things over in his own time... no one and nothing could rush Captain-General Yamamoto of the 1st Division if he did not choose to be rushed... turned back to observing the strange and outlandish ranks of the enemy procession, and found her gaze caught by a certain figure in a long black coat, with brown hair and a silvery staff clutched in one hand, lurking unobtrusively in the back section of the parade, amongst the people grouped under the black on black banner. He was doing a good job of staying in what little shadows there were to be had, but not good enough to go unnoticed by someone of her caliber! "It's him! That's the man I saw last night! He was there, at the massacre!" Soi Fon announced, pointing the man out, Suzumebachi already released and moulded to her hand, so that her deadly stinger accentuated the pointing motion. Even as she was so doing, she watched the man in the black coat pointing back at her, speaking to a large and uncouth looking man with ringleted black hair standing next to him, this other man was dressed in frippery of crimson and blue and wore a magnificent broad brimmed hat of black with blue and crimson feathers stuck in the brim, with a long and broad sword sheathed at his side.

**"That's her, the midget with the rings on her braids. She's the one I saw last night, poking around the remnants of that village that Vandire and his goons trashed." **Mal Elkiran, Duke of Shadows for his majesty the Rex Divinia's Imperial Crusade Army, pointed out to his best friend, Vladimo Morieth, Duke of Battle, indicating the spitfire of a woman who was making a scene on top of the wall, completely disproportionate to her childlike stature.

**"The one that looks like she's 120, at MOST? I never thought you went in for the cradle robbing, Mal. I thought you said you saw a really sexy woman last night. Now I see you found a boy with breasts. I'm disappointed in you, my friend."** Vladimo replied with a smile twisting his lips as he goaded his longest standing friend.

**"Well, if she doesn't fit your tastes, then that's no skin off my nose. Be nice to find a woman that doesn't instantly swoon and fall head over heels into your bed for a change anyway."** Mal smiled and waved jauntily at the scowling woman who had caught his eye. **"See, she's already pointing me out. Clearly she has good taste in men. And for the record she IS extremely sexy, even if she is a little flat in the chest. Not all women should be judged by the size of their bust, you know, they have other important attributes as well. Such as hands. She looks like she has very nice and dextrous hands. I could do a lot with those hands..."**

**"You're starting to scare me, Mal. Wanting women for their hands? You've been out in the sun too long without a hat again. Now, if you'll cast your appreciate if slightly deranged gaze a bit to the left, you'll see a woman that exemplifies women. ZOUNDS! Now that is pure sex right there!"** Vladimo argued, gesturing happily at another woman, taking the time with the same movement to eye the weapons and armor on display amongst the black clad short people. Swords and none, respectively. Bunch of hayseeds didn't even know to wear armor? He didn't wear armor either of course, but that was a personal choice... fighting was too easy if he let himself wear armor. He had to handicap himself to make it fun.

**"You mean the redhead with tits that could suffocate a horse? Why am I not surprised. You always did have a talent for picking out the most well endowed women instantly. You do realize with tits that big, she can't have much muscle in the skull area, right? Its a biological impossibility..."** Mal retorted, enjoying the bickering with his friend, as it did a great job of diffusing tension. He hated being out in the open, exposed like this. This wasn't his sort of battlefield.

**"Why would I want her to have muscles in her skull? I'm not planning on fucking her skull, or burying my face in it and blowing a raspberry therein. You're weird, Mal, just weird. Accept it."**

**"No weirder than you, Vlad, no weirder than you. Hey, do you think they're ever gonna reply to Alyster, or are we just gonna stand around in the sun with our dicks in the breeze for the rest of the day? I don't like being this visible. Bad things always happen to me when I'm visible. I am a creature of the night and dark places... this is neither night nor a dark place, just about the opposite in both categories! Hey, check out the freak with the spikes and the bells and the eyepatch! What a fruitcake!"**

"All right, enough of this bullshit, I'm fucking bored!" Captain Zaraki announced grumpily atop the wall. "Seeing as no one has started trying to talk to these freaks yet, I guess no one has any problems with me trying MY solution to a bunch of clowns in silly outfits interrupting my morning bath and massage, right?" He turned and looked at Soi Fon with his one uncovered eye. The two of them were rarely in agreement on anything of substance, but he could see that she was eager to get to grips with the guy in the coat so she could start asking him pointed questions by tickling his manhood with her Zanpakuto, which was almost an erotic thought if he had any taste for short, angry women. Which he didn't, angry was all well and good, but he hated tiny women. Always afraid he was gonna step on em or crush em or something. No fun at all.

"This is clearly a diplomatic overture." Captain Kuchiki spoke up, ruining Zaraki's fun, as was normal for the prissy nobleman. "Responding with violence would be the height of barbarism and dishonor. Then again, it is you, Captain Zaraki, so I guess we should not be surprised."

"Is that guy in the blue and red pimps outfit staring at my chest, or is it just me?" Matsumoto whispered in an aside to her Captain, giving the man in question the gimlet eye all the while. Not that she wasn't used to men staring at her chest, she was proud of that affect she had on them, but she didn't even know this guy and already he was trying to give her a "come hither" look? Yeah right, no thanks.

"Well, if you'd wear your uniform properly, perhaps they wouldn't be so obviously on display." Hitsugaya replied out of the corner of his mouth. He didn't like the appraising looks the man Matsumoto had indicated was giving not just his Vice-Captain, but everyone on the wall. He recognized the eyes of a veteran warrior when he saw them analyzing him. And he was having a tough time getting a read on the outsiders in turn, if only because most of them were little more than immutable statues in their metal full body armor, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Even the armored giant of Komamura's Bankai didn't have armor as comprehensive or detailed as the stuff these people wore! If he hadn't seen the youth in gold... who was not that much older than Hitsugaya himself by his estimation, if distressingly taller... take off his helm to reveal a human face beneath, he might have thought they all really were golems or dolls and not humans in strange armor!

Their conversation was interrupted by Zaraki once more, who, fed up with Byakuya's smart remarks, effectively ended the arguement by leaping down from the wall and striding over to loom over the youth in gold, who, to his credit, did not flinch upon being towered over by a brutal giant like Kenpachi Zaraki, with his jagged edged and much chipped sword slung across one shoulder. It was a plain physical challenge, Zaraki doing everything short of reaching out and shoving the young man in getting into his personal space, daring a reaction, looking for any excuse to pick a fight. The youth in gold seemed determined not to rise to the provokation, though it was plain from the feel of his spiritual energy that he was not as calm as his poker face let on. "Well...?" Zaraki demanded with a snort, eyeing the youth in gold like he was a ugly species of houseplant.

**"May I help you... sir?"** Alyster said after several long seconds, stressing the question on the "sir", as he was not sure what social rank, if any, this man had. The single exclamation the musclebound brute had made hadn't been nearly enough to equate to either a question or an attempted response to his prior announcement. What kind of backwards hellhole was this anywhere, where they didn't even speak a debased form of the King's Tongue? Everyone sure was dressed funny too. Their swords were weird also, and if the brute was any example, their quality was extremely low, as was their personal care standards. You could tell a lot about people by looking at how well they took care of their weapons and equipment, and all he could tell was that these people were slovenly and ignorant of even the most basic care methods. He wondered if these people had even made their swords, or if they had bartered or stolen them from some more advanced and enlightened culture. So far he was not overly impressed with them, despite the rather magnificent wall they'd erected around their capital city. Another barter, or were they just vagrants who moved in after the original owners left?

**"Hey Alyster, I think he LIKES you!"** Shouted Duke Morieth, one of the least serious and most annoying of all his fellow Sanctus Dominii... Holy Dukes of the Imperium Animi Crusade Armor, commanders in chief of each individual Squadron of his Majesty's military forces. Of course, expecting tact and diplomatic restraint from the Duke of Battles was perhaps asking a bit much. All his Squadron was good for was pitching into the Daemonic forces at full charge, weapons waving high, to distract and occupy them while more refined and effective Squadrons, such as his own Order Squadron, manuevered for best advantage. He was a definite liability in a delicate first contact type situation like this one, but what choice did they have? It wasn't like they could send him home, it would take two decades for him to recross the wilderness back to his Majesty's holy domains!

**"You're not helping, Morieth! Go stare at a cow's tits or something, and stop bothering the adults!"** Alyster shouted back, keeping a friendly smile plastered on his face for the benefit of the brute frowning down at him. _Nice doggy... good doggy... don't bite me doggy, I don't wanna have to put a tribal leader down so soon..._

**"Hah! Thanks but no thanks, Fane, there's at least one set of bigger tits on that wall than any cow I ever seen! Would you stop pussyfooting around and either kiss your boyfriend there or kick his ass so we can stop hanging around here in the sunlight? Mal's starting to melt back here, and that ain't a pretty sight!"**

Though quite unable to understand what either yelling man was saying, Kenpachi was more than capable of understanding tone of voice, and the mocking tone of the second man's voice, the guy in blue and red mufti by the stagecoach, was a decided indicator that he had no fucking idea who he was making fun of. Grunting irritably, Zaraki sidestepped around the kid in gold armor and made a beeline straight through the middle of the serried ranks of outsiders towards the offending man, who was almost as big as he was, with a shit eating grin on his face that just begged to be wiped bloodily off. It was slower going than he was used to... unlike the other Shinigami, these rubes didn't automatically give way before him, and he had to literally walk over more than few of them before they began grudgingly stepping aside, perhaps by order of the kid in gold, since he was shouting some more of the gibberish shit, but Kenpachi didn't care one way or another. Soon enough though, he was standing chest to chest with the mocking man, trading glares and bloodthirsty grins, point for point. "I have no fucking idea who you are, but I get the feeling you and I are gonna beat the shit out of each other before too much longer..." Kenpachi observed, smirk stretching across his face.

**"Your breath stinks of fish, fruitcake. I don't know who the hell you think you are, swaggering up to me like this, but I'm here to tell you that you might be a big fish in a small pond, but I'm a motherfucking shark and I'm ready to prove it to you whenever you're ready for the ass kicking of your pitiful existence. Look at this loon, Mal, he's grinning like he's just found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I've never wanted to hurt someone so badly before. He's totally asking for it! It would be impolite to refuse at this point in time!"** Vladimo retorted, fighting the urge to draw his Arma Sancti and sheathe it again in the Fruitcake's guts. Such restraint did not come naturally to the Duke of Battle, first in and always last out of any conflict to be had. Still, there was the matter of counting coupe to consider, so he kept Zobens sheathed for the time being, smeared a smarmy clown grin on his face to match the Fruitcake's, and then deliberately thumbed his nose at the freak. It took a moment for the ass to figure the hand gesture out, but regardless of language barriers, insulting hand gestures were fairly universal, even if the exact content wasn't conveyed.

"Okay, wiseass, thank you, that's what I was waiting for. Fucking finally, someone here grows a set of balls." Zaraki growled happily, as he lifted his Zanpakuto off his shoulders. He had to pause only a moment when he took a closer look at the wiseass's face, noting that his dark green eyes had pupils like those of a cats, and his smile was made entirely of interlocking, jagged fangs. Now, Zaraki wasn't usually one to pay much attention during Captain's meetings, but the last one was still fairly recent, and he always perked up when terms like "biting people's faces off" were tossed about, so he was fairly sure he was looking at someone with traits similar to those that Soi Fon had described in the undead monsters that tried to kill her. Not that it changed anything, he was still going to cut this guy down to size anyway, but it might keep the old fart off his back in the future, which was never an entirely bad thing. "Draw yer sword, its time for some fun..." Zaraki declared, pointing his jagged blade into the guy's face.

"Aww, shit..." Renji cursed with feeling, as he saw Captain Zaraki smiled and point his sword at the guy in blue and crimson's face. "So much for diplomacy..."

**"Hey, the Fruitcake just put his fucking sword in my face, here! I can't let that go..."** Vladimo called out, drawing curses from Alyster and several others that had been hoping, for once, to not get involved in a brawl right off the bat. He put his hand on Zobens's hilt, drawing forth his broadsword, which was about the same size as the spike haired Fruitcake's saber-thing, though in considerably better shape and straight edged of course. Quite who made the next move, nobody was sure, but sudden movement from beside him showed Mal dodging away from the short woman with the braid rings, as she used some fast move technique to try and get the drop on him and put him into a submission hold. Problem being, the Duke of Shadows was never really off guard, and was able to duck away from her grab. That was the thing that tore it. One thing for the Duke of Battle to pick a fight... that was all but expected by this point, it was practically written in the rulebook, but for some slip of a girl to try and blindside the Duke of Shadows for no good reason? It was on...

**"Slice the foe, Zobens!"** Vladimo called out his battle cry, entering his Ascension mode and signalling the call to general battle for his unit.

"THAT'S a sword release!" Captain Hitsugaya called out, though it was fairly obvious what the sudden increase in power and alteration of the shape of the broad bladed one handed sword into a thin, dark two handed version, somewhat reminiscent of Kurosaki's Bankai, just sized for two handed use. "Reign over the frozen heavens, Hyoinmaru!"

**"Adapt to all circumstances, Mercurius!"**

"Growl, Haineko...!"

**"Fly to their heart, Umbra Scalprum!"**

"Scatter, Senbonzakura..."

**"Stalk my prey, Nebula Venator..."**

"Grow, Hozukimaru!"

**"Goddamn you, Morieth, you just had to do it, didn't you? Once, just once, could you stay out of my attempts at diplomacy, you warfiend! I guess I have no choice now... Judge the guilty, Onere della Guistizia!"**

"I've had enough. I won't be intimidated or attacked at the gates of my own home by these outlandish upstarts. Reduce all of creation to ash, Ryujin Jakka...!"

**"DID HE JUST TRANSCEND? BECAUSE, HOLY SHIT!"**

**"I think that MIGHT just be Ascension..."**

**"Really? That sucks... FOR US! Sovereign plus class Fire, twelve o'clock high!"**

**"That's quite enough of all this noise! Honestly, could you all try to act your ages for ONCE? I'm disappointed in you all."** This last voice came from the stagecoach, and it belonged to a young woman with a fountain of flowing red hair that extended almost to the ground, for all that she stood a good six feet off of it on the sideboard of the wagon-residence. She was dressed in robes of white, with diadems of rubies and sapphires adorning her clothing, and a simple circlet of silver about her brow, capped with a single square cut sapphire the size of a dove's egg on the front, and her periwinkle eyes flashed with annoyed fire. She raised the silvery scepter in her right hand, studded with more of the ruby and sapphire gems that were the mark of her family and status and sighed loudly. **"Rest admist great peace, Regina della Tranquillo."** She intoned conversationally, rather than shouted or declared. The scepter turned gold, and the gems bgean to faintly glow, but the most visible effect was the drifting clouds of sparkling blue spirit particles that suddenly suffused a several mile radius around her position.

All released weapons, Zanpakuto and Arma Sancti both, within the area of sparkling blue were instantly returned to their baseline sealed form. That was the power of Regina della Tranquillo, the Queen of Tranquility, to ability to stop fighting before it could escalate any further. The power was absolute, but also indiscriminate, affecting both friend and foe equally, and also halving the power of offensive or binding magics used within its sphere of influence. The peace aura could only be maintained for a short time, but it was generally long enough for her to at least try and reach people with words once again. Certainly, she was adept at taking advantage of the shock of those who suddenly found themselves forced out of their myriad and powerful unique battle stances without warning. And the more powerful and experienced a combatant was, the usually greater their surprise was at suddenly have no access to the bulk of their power. She picked out the old man with the long grey beard, who had so awed and even frightened her escorts with his display of his sovereign plus class Fire Arma, and correctly deduced that he must be the leader or one of the leaders.

Carefully stepping down from her carriage, Princess Lacus DeCirc, third in line to the throne of the Rex Divinia of the Imperium Animi, gratefully accepted a hand down from one of Alyster's Order Knights, her handmaidens gathering up her inconveniently long train of hair that was yet another mark of her status and importance. Waving off further assistance from her gaggle of priests and servants, Lacus pointed her scepter at the wary Captain-General to get his attention, and then gave him her most winning apologetic smile. "We... come... peace... in..." Lacus intoned carefully, having studied many languages in the past, a necessity for a successful diplomat, and having once poured over a truly ancient book of translated terms that seemed to have been compiled even before the Imperium itself was established by her great ancestor. She had never heard the tongue spoken aloud except by herself, until just now. To think, they were actually in the mythical land of SouSoi, or something like that. It boggled the mind... the pursuit had led them this far! Would Vandire never stop running? Or was this his goal all along? It was tough to tell with a creature like him. "Be... friends... you... us, not... harm... you... meant... **Oh, I'm sure I'm getting this all wrong, I probably just insulted his mother or something!"**

Princess DeCirc sighed and waved her scepter, canceling her Ascension and once more allowing the release of Arma Sancti and other soul-weapons, half expecting the city to become a battlefield at once. No such thing occured. In fact, most people on both sides just seemed to be looking at her funny. **"Um, Milady, I think you may have overawed the primitives with your divine power... certainly, you always manage to impress me, and I know what to expect from the Regina!"** Alyster, her best friend, lover and the military commander of this most important mission, despite his tender years, pointed out, sotto voce.

"Maybe we ought to talk to these people first, Yama-jii..." Captain Kyoraku opined, having arrived late to the scene, just barely in time to see Ryujin Jakka forcibly resealed with the mere wave of a pretty girl's jeweled wand. Her Japanese was horribly mangled and impossible archiac, but it was at least mostly understandable. He wondered from she had learned it... nobody spoke in such stilted terms anymore, not even Yama-jii, and he was older than just about everyone but the Royal Family! Seeing that no one else was inclined to play the peacemaker, most of them looking locked in a sudden confused or pissed off conversation with their Zanpakuto, trying to figure out what the HELL had just happened, Shunsui sighed and beckoned for the gate to be opened, using his extensive knowledge of hand gestures and other nonverbal means of communication, learned from centuries of sometimes being too drunk to talk properly while still needing to order more sake or a bed to sleep in, to hopefully pantomime communicate to the outsider leader that she was to be allowed to come inside, along with her people, though they were going to be watched very carefully.

"Shunsui..." Captain-General Yamamoto said, irritation in his voice, even though Ryujin Jakka had once more returned to cane form.

"Yes, Yama-jii?" Kyoraku answered, expecting a reprimand about exceeding his authority.

"You're late..."


	5. Black Noon

Author Note: Glad to see people like the Crusaders in their first real appearance, even if we really haven't had time to get to know the characters just yet (why would I want to do that so soon, when I can devote an entire story arc, the one after this one, to both sides feeling each other out, before the main plot really kicks off, and for those unfamiliar with me, that means 6-8 chapters worth of interactions, combats and humor). I'm endeavoring to write this story in the same kind of thematic or style format as Bleach itself, or also Full Metal Alchemist. As in, theres plenty of humor, and most of the time, even combats and the like aren't taken that seriously. But when things do get fucked up or serious, they get VERY fucked and serious, sometimes without warning, as the massacre in Crimson Dusk showed. This is not a kids story, ladies and gentlemen. This is a 16+ story thinly veiled in ribald jokes and pranks and irreverent, posturing loudmouths. Like in Steel Dawn, "**Bold Text" **here represents things said in the language of the Crusaders, which is, by and large, entirely unintelligible to Shinigami, and vice versa for stuff in "Normal Text", while things said in English will be "Underlined", in case for some reason its not obvious.

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, en route to 1st Division headquarters, January 13th, midmorning**

**"For the record, I don't like this. I just want that known."** Mal Elkiran, Duke of Shadows, pointed out, his voice pitched so that it would not easily carry beyond the ears of their little group, as they marched... well, more like strolled, really... along the well paved and confusingly laid out streets of this city, this "Ser-ee-eti". The architectural style was like nothing Mal had ever seen before, and he prided himself on his knowledge of such things. It wasn't even remotely related to any building styles from any of the provinces of the Imperium. It had been a century or so since he'd last ventured to the Living World... the battle against the Daemons was too intense for friviolous trips to that largely inconsequential domain... but he didn't remember seeing any architecture there like this either. The primary building material was wood, with slanted roofs done in some sort of clay tile that was dyed or painted a variety of colors. The craftsmanship of the wood and tile was quite intricate and beautiful, and definitely bespoke of an advanced and artistic culture as having created them. The question was, were the current occupants of this fortress-city that originating culture, or were they some sort of conquering tribe or vagrant immigrants? He had yet to see any sign of artisans or workers, just the black clad soldiers, but perhaps that was to be expected. The small folk and serfs were likely being kept well away from any potential combat.

**"None of us like this, Elkiran, but what choice do we have? Her Highness has made her decree, it is our duty to follow it to the best of our ability."** Alyster Fane, Duke of Order, snapped back, his tone sharp and irritable, a rarity for the young prodigy, who was well renowned for his manners and politeness when dealing with all, subordinates, peers and superiors alike. Though they were of equal rank, Mal had been a Sanctus Dominus... the formal title for Duke... for almost twice as long as Alyster had even been alive, and thus he had seniority over him, if only informally. It was a testament to Duke Fane's skills and temperment that he had been granted military command over this highly important mission, but there were still flashes of the hot headed and idealistic young man from the common classes that poked through every now and then.

Mal did not rise to the sharp tone of Fane's voice, recognizing that his young compatriot was sulking after being publicly, if gently, reprimanded by the Princess, for his inability to resolve the delicate first contact situation peacefully. Of course it had been Vladimo's provocations more than anything else that had unraveled the situation, but as the Commander, it was part of Alyster's job to keep his fellow Dukes in line and all pulling for the same team, so the responsibility was in the end his. Mal did roll his eyes expressively over the shorter man's head, much to the amusement of Vladimo, walking on the other side of the golden armored Duke of Order. Prodigious talent or not, Fane still had a lot of growing up to do, and mellowing out, before he would really settle into his role as a Sanctus Dominus. He was still too prickly, too easily riled, and too easily shamed... he saw everything in black and white, good and evil, right or wrong, and the world just wasn't like that, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

**"Well, its a beautiful day for a stroll through hostile territory anyway."** Vladimo commented with a yawning smirk, as he stretched his arms up and over his head before folding his hands behind his head and began to whistle tunelessly through pursed lips. Het noted how their black clad escorts all visibly tensed when he made the unexpected movement, and many of them dropped hands to hilts of their swords in the process. They were wary and mistrustful, but that was okay, because the Crusaders all felt the same way. He and Mal just did a better job of hiding it than Alyster did. As for the fourth member of their little counseling group, Kinkaid Grey, he was taciturn and impenetrable as always, walking silently in the wake of the three Dukes in what some might have construed as a subservient position. In reality, while Kinkaid did not command a military squadron as did the other three, his authority was really no less, because he was a direct representative of the Rex Divinia, the Royal Huntmaster, responsible for both leisure hunting and the tracking down and retrieving or killing of escaped criminals or rare creatures that caught royal notice. He was the Imperium's premier bounty hunter and scout, and rumored to even be an indirect relation to the Royal clan, hinting at huge reserves of spiritual power.

You'd have been hard pressed to find four men more dissimilar from one another in all the Imperium, yet they had still managed to all become friendly if not quite friends, brought together by the bonding experience of this most critical and dangerous and frustrating mission they had been tasked with. The insult and sin that Zacharis Vandire, once the Duke of Vengeance and their peer, had offered the Rex Divinia during his brief and abortive attempt at a coup, which had resulted in the Rex Divinia himself actually taking minor wounds at Vandire's hands, could not be borne! The traitorous Duke and his cultish followers had to be tracked down, captured or exterminated at all costs; no other solution was acceptable for addressing a crime of this magnitude! But in accepting this charge, none of them had any idea that it would take them for a fifteen year sojourn across untamed and uncharted wilderness far beyond the boundaries of the Imperium Animi, Vandire apparently willing to run to the ends of the world before he would be brought to bay! Now here they were, in some land of myths and legends that were ancient even before the Imperium had ever been founded!

Vladimo, tall and blustery, with his tanned skin criss-crossed with scars both pale and dark, worn openly, like badges of honor, quick with a joke or smile, quicker still to sheathe blade into flesh over some perceived slight, thought of it all like some grand adventure! He was having the time of his life on this endless pursuit, even if it did mean roughing it in the wilderness for long periods of times, and limited access to the comforts of civilization, such as fine wine and finer women. But he was walking paths no Imperial had ever trod, seeing sights that had never been seen before, and fighting foes that had never even appeared in myths... he needed little more from life than that. His untamed and ringleted hair, black as onyx, tumbled down across his shoulders, wild and free, like that of a pirate of the Spanish Main, which he was fairly sure he had once been in the living world, judging by his tastes in the Imperium. Yes, he was as content as he ever got, and he could not and would not restrain himself from laughing out loud boisterously to express his happiness, causing his companions to grimace and their black clad escort to flinch uncomfortably.

Only slightly shorter but considerably leaner than his carefree and animated best friend, Mal waited out his friend's amused outburst patiently, a grin fighting to break free from his control to spread across his face. Though not normally carefree or prone to outbursts of public amusement, there was just something about being around his outgoing friend that brought out the sunnier side of his personality and allowed him to relax and be the man he might once have been, before his duties and committments as the Duke of Shadows had twisted him into the man he was today. It wasn't easy being responsible for gathering intelligence on monstrous foes like Daemonkind, and even less easy having to turn his talents for observation and subterfuge on his fellows, including those whom he thought of as friends. He was a thief, an assassin and an inquisitor, and such roles suited him, but sometimes he missed being able to turn a blind eye to duty and just enjoying himself for the sake of enjoyment. He did not like this place, he did not know the rules or the secrets of this place, so he could not like it, not yet anyway. He cursed Vandire for his obstinancy, even as he was quietly grateful for the chance to be away from the burden of most of his duties back in the Imperium.

Considerably shorter than all three of his peers, and shorter than most of the people in his own Squadron too for that matter, even the newest recruits who were younger than him, Alyster Fane walked stiffly, his spine straight as a rod, his head held high, his eyes looking neither left nor right. He was doing his best to ignore the antics of his peers, though with Vladimo, that was no simple task. Similarly, he was doing his best to tune out the ranks of their black clad escorts, having only eyes for the Princess, as she walked accompanied by her handmaidens and priests, in a seperate group alongside the officers of this black clad military force, including the rogiush looking older man clad in, of all things, a bright pink over robe of some sort, complete with flower emblems on it! He'd never seen such an overtly feminine garment before, not even on women, yet here a man was wearing it openly? This was a strange place, and Alyster did not like strange places. They made him feel ill at ease and out of his depth. Still, his righteous ire and desire to bring honor to himself, his Princess and the whole of the Imperium Animi by bringing the arch-traitor Vandire to justice would not let him shy from the task at hand, no matter his personal distaste. He just wished she wouldn't be mad at him, being excluded from her company was worse than any torture Elkiran could inflict in his dungeons back home!

For his part, Kinkaid Grey was annoyed, though he would never let himself show it. He had sworn an oath to the man he respected above all others, his great uncle, the Rex Divinia, to hunt down and slay the man who had so wounded his Majesty's pride and body. He could not be content until he held Vandire's dripping decapitated head in his hand, dangling by the hair, so that he might lay it at his Majesty's feet so that all would know the inevitable price for rebellion and violent dissent against their rightful lord. Getting involved with these robed people and their vast fortress-city just seemed like a waste of time to him, a diversion from their mission. Vandire was getting further away and harder to find with each minute they spent in this farcial pageantry! Alas, he could not openly argue with or decry the edicts of a trueblooded member of the Royal family, any more than he could suddenly start to breathe water and drink air! He tried to occupy himself by analyzing and memorizing their surroundings, for future reference, as the Duke of Shadows was doing, but his heart wasn't in it. Cities were not his place, his home was the vast tracts of the wilderness, where civilization had yet to reach and hopefully never would. Where he could be once more the predator of predators that he had always yearned to be.

"I don't like these guys one bit." Madarame Ikkaku, third seat of 11th squad, announced to absolutely no one's surprise. What might have surprised people was his reasoning behind this statement, though, in typical Ikkaku fashion, he didn't bother to elaborate on his thoughts. Explaining yourself was for fools and pansies, and sometimes Ayasegawa, who generally needed quite a bit of explaining himself in order for anyone to take him seriously on a battlefield. One time, while on a mission in the Living World, prior to the actual fighting of the Winter War, Ikkaku had seen a show on TV, some sort of "self help" program where all the contestants had to sit in a circle and share their feelings with each other in a kindly and orderly fashion. He'd never seen anything more horrifying in all his days, both before and since, and this was from a guy that saw Kenpachi Zaraki at full power more often than just about anyone but Yachiru!

So he kept his mouth shut, save for that one outburst, which was only keeping in character, and because he just couldn't bite it back any further without feeling like he was gonna choke on it. But these guys really did give him a bad vibe. To be fair, he'd had a bad vibe regarding Kurosaki as well, and that had turned out more or less for the better, but still. Madarame Ikkaku was familiar with the idea of uneasiness... it was what happened to other people before they fought him or the Captain, but he wasn't familiar with experiencing it himself, which was the cause of his current bruised mood. There were just too many variables with these strange newcomers, in their full body suits of metal plate and odd looking weapons, and the way they deferred out of hand to the chick with the ridiculously long hair. Ikkaku was far from a misoygnist, he knew damn well that some women could be damned strong, and, like all 11th division members save Captain Zaraki, he harbored secret and deeply rooted fears of Captain Unohana, but the unquestioning respect even the most battle hungry stranger, the guy in the eye watering red and blue suit and flamboyant hat, displayed just rubbed him the wrong way. The guy had the balls to call out Captain Zaraki with an insulting hand gesture, to his face, but meekly turned the other cheek for some slip of a girl with too much hair? What... the... Hell?

And then there was the gloomy looking freak in the long black coat, who was plainly, even obviously checking out the Sereitei with more regard for its tactical layout than its artistic presentation, like a man planning a future invasion rather than a social visit. The grey haired guy in the grey and brown armor, a hideous color combination even to him, like a dead leaf on the forest floor, was probably also checking the Sereitei out, and the Shinigami as well, though he was more circumspect about it, unlike the guy in the coat, who had looked at Ikkaku like he was a bug in a jar with insultingly open appraisal before smirking for some reason and then looking elsewhere. Men had died or at least been seriously injured for less of an insult than such a casual dismissal! But though he ached to call the smarmy bastard on it, with a cease fire called by Captain Kyoraku and enforced by the Captain-General, his hands were tied, or at least they would be, in the prison cell he'd be thrown in for disobeying a direct order without cause!

Glaring with frustration, Ikkaku turned his gaze to the one stranger that he could get something of a handle on, the short guy in the golden armor. Though short was a relative term, the guy... young man, actually, since Ikkaku probably had at least a century on him and Ikkaku was no senior citizen by any means... was taller than half the Shinigami around him, just short in comparison to his buddies. He was the only one, even with his foreign facial structure, that Ikkaku could easily read, because he wore his feelings and emotions... anger, frustration, mild embarassment and longing... openly across his youthful features. He'd initially presented himself as someone powerful and extremely important, striding forward alone to yell whatever the hell his message was up at the Shinigami crowded on top of the North Gate, but was obviously feeling a bit deflated after the woman with the long red hair had stepped forward to prevent a conflict. Which was a hell of a disconcerting thing to recall, how her Zanpakuto, or whatever it was that these people had, resealed every other Zanpakuto around, even Ryujin Jakka! What the hell kinda power could do THAT?

Hozukimaru was being suspiciously mum on that incident, not that it was particularly abnormal for that lazy bastard to be holding back on his owner, but still, he'd never refused a direct request before, and right now he could barely even talk to his Zanpakuto! Judging by the frustrated and weirded out looks on some of the Shingiami walking nearby, he wasn't the only one to be having this problem. In fact, judging from the look on Captain Hitsugaya's face, even the Captains were not immune to this sudden restive attitude in their weapon-spirits, and the pint sized captain didn't look too pleased about it. Then again, the little guy never exactly went around grinning like most kids did, his moods, in Ikkaku's experience, read like the dial on those air conditioner things they had in the Living World... Cool, Icy and Fucking Freezing! Ikkaku itched for one of the strangers to step out of line, to provoke a challenge, to make a hostile action, because goddamn it, they made his skin crawl and the only way to make it stop was to beat them into the ground! Anything to alleviate this oppresive uncertainty and suspicion about whether they were really enemies or not! After all, if they were strong enough to hold him and the others off, then they would be worth befriending. And if not, well, then it was a moot point. Diplomacy was very simple in the 11th.

Unfortunately, Ikkaku and the others, as well as their uninvited guests from the West, weren't able to find an excuse to settle things in a more direct fashion before the escorted procession reached the 1st division headquarters and central conference chamber where the Captain-General briefed his subodinates in their weekly and monthly meetings. Well, unfortunately for the restive and overtly suspicious among them anyway, as far as the little group of senior officers that escorted the long haired Princess were concerned, it was nothing short of a miracle, given the tension that was palpable in the air. If the crimson haired Princess was overly bothered by this atmosphere of distrust though, it did not show in her voice, her face or her actions, as she strolled along, communicating in a jerky but amiable fashion with Shunsui Kyoraku, making small talk as they walked, neither offering nor seemingly searching for information.

Shunsui wasn't fooled however, as a man who lived everyday life by presenting a public facade of indolence, carelessness and disconnection from the events at hand, he knew well when he was faced with another consumate actor. This crimson haired beauty, La-cus or however her name was pronounced, was an excellent actor, every bit as talented and practiced as he himself was, keeping her face open and honest, her tone light and accomodating and polite, even as she probed for gossip and other seemingly irrelevant information that, in the right hands and when studied by the right mind, reveal a great deal more detail about a culture or society than one might expect. Were it not for the shielding effect of the language barrier, Shunsui was sure that she would have already gotten plenty of information out of him that he wasn't even aware he was giving her, just in how he conducted this seemingly innocent but very important small talk. Diplomats made the best spies after all, because they were expected to talk with people who knew important things, and were the best at inferring data from the slightest of changes in voice and tone and inflection.

While not as good at this discreet probing thing, at least in such a formal atmosphere... he did much better in an intimate setting, around drinks and other pleasant distractions... Shunsui had managed to notice a few details himself. For one, this emissary Princess was simply GORGEOUS, even with her foreign facial structure, she was like the most talented artist's depiction of feminine beauty come to life. This might seem like an obvious detail, especially for an avowed womanized like himself, to notice, but it was more in how she projected and utilized her looks that interested him than the looks themselves. He wasn't so fond of older women, no matter their looks, as they made him feel a bit intimidated and, for lack of a better word, childish, as if they could see through his public veneer somehow. This was one of the reasons he never made passes at Retsu, despite them being close friends and her being a very attractive woman in both mind and body. She only had a century or two on him, and both of them had more than a millenium under their belts by now, but she just made him feel like a misbehaving child for some reason. And not in the good way that Nanao did.

And though this Princess physically presented as someone in her late twenties, visibly younger than Retsu, more like Soi Fon's visual age, Shunsui would have been VERY surprised if she wasn't close to two thousand years old at the least. She had that aura of stately majesty about her, very much like Yama-jii, that comes from being much older and more experienced than pretty much anyone you happened to meet. Among Soul Reapers, where senility was mostly just an excuse to act odly and confuse your youngers and subordinates rather than any true debilitating condition, the adage "with age comes wisdom" definitely held true. And with great age, came very great wisdom, almost ad infinitum, the older one got, the wiser and more mentally capable they tended to get, because Soul Reapers, unlike mortals, didn't experience degradation in memory function as they got older. Shunsui could remember events from a thousand years ago with the same clarity as he did what he'd had for breakfast yesterday, and he didn't even generally make an effort to note things down, unlike some of his peers and friends.

But getting back to the topic, the Princess looked young and innocent and maybe even slightly naive, but she acted with the mind of someone who had been ferreting out secrets and negotiating in dangerous circumstances for hundreds of years before anyone but Yama-Jii was even born! A very dangerous combination, that. Especially coupled with her physical allure, which, Shunsui noted with a secret smile, was strong enough to even get a straightlaced, tragic prude like Byakuya Kuchiki looking a little flustered and hot under the collar, which was nothing if not scary, given that young man's dedication to the memory of his late wife. Not that he thought Byakuya was in any danger of losing himself to this foreigner, just that her looks were distracting even one of the least distractable Captains in all the Gotei 13, and that thusly it was probably a good idea to keep a watch on his other peers and their assistants for signs of unconscious influence. Especially Kira or Shuuhei, as both of them were already somewhat unbalanced by the betrayals of the Winter War, and painfully and fruitlessly pursuing Rangiku Matsumoto, who was in no mood for fun and games with friends in the wake of her own suffering during the battle with Aizen and Gin. They would be vulnerable to manipulative infatuation for the time being.

Reading much more from the Princess herself was difficult, but fortunately they weren't dealing with only this Pricness, but her entourage of Captain class escorts as well, and though he could not overtly turn and study them, he could indirectly observe his own compatriots and their reactions, and collate information that way. Captain Fon was fixated upon the tall, lanky man in the black coat, only the angry grimace on her face differentiating her posture from that of a lovestruck young girl catching sight of her first tasty looking man. This was not particulaly strange for the 2nd Division Captain, who always threw her all into focusing on what she perceived as threats to the Gotei 13, though Shunsui was fairly sure he could detect a note of discomfort from Captain Fon as well, obviously recalling the way this man had appeared in front of her and then escaped before she could even react, a blandishment on her professional skills. Sparks would fly there before too much longer, that was certain. He just hoped that said sparks would kindle no greater fires.

Because though the Gotei 13 did significantly outnumber the strangers, they were also still recovering from the shock and devastation, psychological as well as material, of the Winter War. And they didn't outnumber the strangers by such a large margin that it would be any easy task to defeat them should things take a turn for the worse, as they very nearly already had, and casualties from four or five Captain classes and an unknown number of Lieutenant classes brawling in the middle of the Sereitei would doubtlessly be heavy. For that matter, the rank and file soldiers of these strangers, with their odd plated armor and exotic weapons, would likely present a grave threat to the unseated ranks of each Division as well. Not least because these were fellow Reapers of a sort, not Hollows, and raising a hand or weapon against allies in spirit, if not actuality, would be hard for many.

And then of course there was the question of the massacre out in the Rukongai, and the connections these strangers had to it. Captain Fon had reported seeing Black-Coat there, but from her reports, it didn't appear that he was responsible for the atrocity either, just that he was investigating it, much like Fon herself had been. Furthermore, though Black-Coat did have a somewhat dark and disturbing aura about him, it wasn't so dark as Shunsui would have expected from someone that would commit such wanton violence and desecrations against the villagers. And judging from the somewhat harried or even openly annoyed expressions on the faces and postures of Pimp-Suit, Golden Boy and Grey, as he had nicknamed the other three "Captains", this diplomatic overture was not the primary reason for their presence at the Sereitei. No, they were here for some other, obviously much more pressing reason, and only respect for the Princess was keeping them from going to pursue whatever that reason was.

Juoshiro and Retsu were waiting for them at the entrance to the 1st Division, along with the 1st Division Vice-Captain, Chojiro Sasukabe, looking prim and proper as he always did. Shunsui waved gaily, with exaggerated cheer, at his two longest standing friends and peers, knowing that they would both read the correct message in his overfriendly action. It more or less translated to "Be on guard, these people could be trouble and I'm feeling a little out of my depth" in the highly situational and adaptable Shunsui Body Language code. He tried not to think about how the crimson haired Princess was casually eying him in a way that could not be considered anything but polite curiosity, yet he could not shake the feeling that she was smiling inside, having nearly perfectly translated his gesture as well. In retrospect, it probably would have been stranger had he NOT given some sort of visual cue to other allies as reassurance at least, and Shunsui chided himself for falling for making such an obvious mistake. Every action of his brought her just a little bit closer to figuring him out completely, and if that were to occur then he knew she would be able to run roughshod over him if she felt the need to do so.

For perhaps the first time in centuries, Shunsui found himself wishing he was on a battlefield somewhere, simply because the nuances of body language on a battlefield were much less important. You watched the eyes, monitored breathing patterns, and kept peripheral awareness of hands and feet in order to read your opponent and predict their motions before they could fully mature. Keeping a poker face yourself was much easier, especially if you were more experienced than your opponent, as was usually the case for him. Here, not only was his opponent more experienced than him, but every little thing about him, from his eyes to his facial mobility to the way he stood or even whether he was sweating or not could potentially give him and his inner thoughts away to his opponent and put him at a grave disadvantage. Of course the reverse held true as well, and both sides were handicapped by cultural barriers and the strangeness of the other, but regardless, the weight of experience generally told in situations like this.

Leaving behind the majority of the Shinigami, including the Lieutenants, at the outer gates, Yama-jii led the strangers and his gathered Captains into his conference hall, where Sasukabe had already set up a table with a formal covering and chairs, dressing up the hall a little bit in preparation for discussions that might be a bit more weighty than the usual standing briefing called for. Shunsui smiled thinly, realizing that Yama-jii was playing the game with his usual skill, obviously tamping down on his combative irritation from earlier in the wake of Ryujin Jakka being forcibly sealed, and opting to a more cautious approach to these strangers. Ever since the Winter War, Yama-jii had been even less tolerant of threats than usual, which explained his determination to nip this one in the bud early, with an all out attack from Ryujin Jakka, rather than let it devolve into a prolonged conflict no one in the Sereitei was ready for. Obviously, the direct route was no longer an option, so it was time to get political, put away the swords and bring out the poisoned smiles.

By reducing the meeting to just the strangers and the Captains, Yama-jii was displaying confidence and strength to the strangers, by saying that the Gotei 13 felt confident of handling them with just the forces at hand, so confident that they would invite them into the heart of their domain without further escorts. He was also working information control, and keeping most of the hot heads out of the direct loop of things, so that their presence could not destabilize already shaky negotiations. And he was potentially denying the strangers easy hostages or the ability to inflict extra casualties if they decided to get hostile if talks broke down. It didn't make the Lieutenants or the other gathered Shinigami happy, but nobody was going to argue with Yama-jii after seeing the mood he was in. Not even Zaraki was that determined to push his luck, despite his blood being up from the brief near-altercation with Pimp-Suit.

After their "guests" were seated and involved in a hushed conversation amongst themselves along one edge of the circular table, a similar quick hashing out of strategy was discussed amongst the Shinigami. It was decided that Ukitake and Unohana would lead the diplomatic efforts, assisted by Kyoraku and Kuchiki, referring to Yamamoto for any major decisions of course, but the Captain-General wanted to distance himself from things as much as possible, both to enforce the authority of his position in the eyes of the strangers and to give himself time to think and study them to come to his own conclusions. The other Captains were to stay and observe, and be ready to intervene if events took a turn for the worse, but they were not to interfere otherwise, not even to speak unless directly spoken to. Vice-Captain Sasukabe was already wheeling out a cart of tea and light refreshment snacks, causing some of the younger Captains to stare at him suspiciously, wondering at his efficiency and level of preparedness for such an exotic situation. Well, you didn't get to be the personal assistant to the Captain-General himself without some serious anticpatory skills... there were few things that Chojiro Sasukabe was not in some way ready to handle. Aizen's betrayal had been the last such thing, and he'd redoubled his efforts since that incident.

It was while silently serving the tea and crackers to the "guests" that Vice-Captain Sasukabe revealed yet another talent that seperated him from most other Vice-Captains. While passing a teacup and platter of snacks to the crimson haired Princess, Sasukabe took a chance and asked her a polite question in one of the languages that he had picked up in his infrequent sojourns to the "Europe" section of the Mortal World, a place that had quickly grown to be an obsession of his, culturally speaking. He'd even come to prefer "western" cuisine, clothing and fighting styles to those of his native Japan. And pat of blending in with his adoptive cultures had of course been learning the most commonly spoken languages of those areas; French, Spanish, German and English. Upon hearing the strangers speaking in their own tongue, Chojiro had recognized several root words and archiac pronounciations of words that he was familiar with, and so he had decided to chance the fact that if they were from a European style spirit culture, they might be proficient in some of the modern languages of such cultures. His gambit paid off when the crimson haired woman with the train of attendants smiled at him and replied in perfect English to his query of how she liked her tea.

"One lump of sugar please, no cream, thank you." She replied, though there was a calculating look in her periwinkle blue eyes as he complied with her direction. "You speak English well." She replied, though she was speaking French, obviously doing some probing of her own. Vice-Captain Sasukabe did his best not to react and show that he understood her words, figuring that it was best to keep the true extent of his multi-lingualism a secret for the time being, but he got the feeling that his attempts were a dismal failure somehow, and that this Princess could see straight through his attempts at a poker face.

"Sasukabe..." Captain-General Yamamoto spoke up, his tone sharp but carefully neutral all the same. "Am I to presume you are conversing with that young lady in some sort of common language?"

"Yes, sir. It appears they are from some sort of European culture, judging by the style of their dress and weapons and armor. Much as our agents that spend time in the mortal world often learn to speak Modern Japanese in order to communicate with Plus souls and modern mortals, I figured that they might learn modern European Languages to do similarly. You remember how I noted how Europe seemed curiously free of both Hollows and Plus souls both, even though we have little to no presence there? It is my guess that these people are responsible for that area of the Mortal world. If my Spiritual History lessons can be trusted, I think I recall a mention of other spiritual realms of Soul Reapers, besides just the Soul Society. We sometimes forget that as great as our responsibilities are, they still only pertain to roughly a third of the Mortal World. It seems obvious that there must be other organizations responsible for the other two thirds of the Living Realm." Sasukabe replied, an uncommonly long utterance for the usually reserved and contained man.

"But if that's true, then where do they come from and why haven't we ever encountered them before? We don't often send agents to far flung sectors of the living world, but we have done it before in the past few centuries. Surely they could not have sprung up in the time since you were last in Europe, Vice Captain Sasukabe! That was only about fifty years ago, during that last major conflict in the Living Realm." Captain Komamura pointed out. He eyed the group of five European Soul Reapers, somewhat surprised to see that other than the occasional curious look, none of them seemed surprised or bothered by his lupine facial features. Plainly he was not the first were-creature or humanoid-hybrid organism they had encountered before. Given that his own race was scarce almost to the point of extinction, so rare that he'd never even met another like him other than his parents in his most distant memories, Sajin wondered what others might be out there, in whatever remote place these strange Soul Reapers came from, that could so inure them to animal-human hybrids that they wouldn't even stare askance at him, as some Shinigami still did!

"Perhaps they will be kind enough to explain this to us if we ask?" Retsu pointed out. "It seems obvious to me that they aren't here to pick a fight with us, or if they are, they want to talk first. Regardless, we would be poor hosts by any standard if we continue to just sit here and talk amongst ourselves. Let us listen to them, and see what they have to say, then once we are better informed, we can further discuss what to do. Making blind decisions is worse than making no decision at all, in this case."

"You always did have a way with wise words, Retsu." Shunsui replied with a lazy grin of appreciation.

"That's the truth!" Joushiro agreed with a slight upturn of his lips. Byakuya, seated beside him, made no comment, but then again, any sort of complimentary exclaimation from him was all but unheard of anyway. The Captain of the 6th seemed to be engaged in some sort of disdainful staring contest with the youth in the golden armor, both men eyeing each other like they'd found the other man stuck to the sole of their footwear after walking through a sewer. Before the staring contest could escalate any further, Captain Ukitake cleared his throat, or perhaps contained a shuddering cough spasm, but once he had everyone's attention, he nodded at Vice-Captain Sasukabe in a dignified fashion. "If you would translate, Vice-Captain, I think it would be prudent to start with some introductions." Ukitake turned to meet gazes with the crimson haired "young" woman.

"This is Captain Joushiro Ukitake, leader of the Court Guard's Division 13, and he extends geetings to you in whatever way your culture finds acceptable." Chojiro translated for his white haired superior. "He will be functioning as diplomatic proxy for Captain-General Genryusai Yamamoto, the commander-in-chief of the Court Guard forces, who will be observing our discussions for the time being. Captain Ukitake is assisted by Captain Retsu Unohana, leader of Division 4, as well as Captain's Shunsui Kyoraku and Byakuya Kuchiki of the 8th and 6th Divisions respectively." Chojiro pointed out each peson in turn. "I am Vice-Captain Chojiro Sasukabe of the 1st Division, and I will do my best to translate accurately and unobtrusively."

"Thank you, Vice-Captain Sasukabe, and extend my thanks to your superiors for their patience and politeness, especially in the wake of our near confrontation earlier. Please forgive my subordinates for their zeal, yours is not the first such foreign civilization we have encountered on our journey, and our past experiences have not all be so polite as you are." The crimson haired woman replied, her voice aching in its melody, the voice of not only a trained diplomat but a trained singer or performing artist as well, harmonious and perfectly pitched to subconsciously relax those that heard it, a subtle weapon more potent than any threat or confrontational declaration could have hoped to be. "I am Princess Lacus DeCirc, third child of his most Holy Majesty, the Rex Divinia, may he rule with benevolence and power for all time. I am empowered with the mantle of Ambassador Plenipotentiary, able to speak for my father with the power of his own voice in the pursuit of my duties regarding our mission. My escorts are Sanctus Dominus Alyster Fane of the Order Squadron, Sanctus Dominus Vladimo Morieth of the Battle Squadron, Sanctus Dominus Mal Elkiran of the Shadow Squadron and Royal Huntmaster Kinkaid Grey." Lacus pointed out the golden armored youth, the man in crimson and blue, Black-Coat and the grey haired man in turn.

"What exactly does "Sanctus Dominus" and "Rex Divinia" stand for?" Sasukabe asked, anticipating the query from his superiors before he completed the original translation.

"Oh, my apologies, I forgot that our terminology would of course be unknown here. Hmm, if I had to translate liteally, Rex Divinia would be "Divine King" and Sanctus Dominus would be "Holy Duke". I would gather that our Dukes are roughly the equivalent of your Division Captains, though I strongly doubt our militaries are at all organized in the same way." Lacus replied with a slight smile.

Sasukabe completed his translation and waited for the reply, secretly all but glowing inside at this unique opportunity to be of service to the Captain-General and Soul Society as a whole. Serving as the Captain-General's Vice-Captain meant he was often overshadowed or eclipsed by his superior's actions, and he was kept busy enough with 1st Division affairs that he rarely had time to socialize with his other Vice-Captain peers, nor did he have time for any but the most critical of missions, so he rarely had the chance to distinguish himself further than he already had by becoming 1st Division Vice-Captain. His love affair with western culture had long been a minor bone of contention between him and his extremely traditional superior, but now it was all proving to be justified, and he was planning on basking in his time in the spotlight, so to speak, even if he was still merely a facilitator for the true conversation. Captain Zaraki snorted in response to the assertion that these "Dukes" were the equal of Gotei Captains, but that was nothing less than expected.

The Princess looked like she was ignoring Zaraki's ill mannered vociferation, but the golden armored youth, Duke Fane, looked like he was about to jump across the table and try and smack some respect into the towering Kenpachi, before a slight narrowing of the Princess's eyes froze him to his chair as surely as if he had been stapled there. Fighting the urge to shoot Zaraki a reproving look, knowing that it would do nothing to change the gruff man's attitude, Ukitake decided to forge on. "Then I would like to welcome you and your escorts to the Sereitei, or Court of Pure Souls, Princess DeCirc. We are the Shinigami, the military protectors of the Soul Society. Before I go any further, is there any particular title or manner of address we should use with you? I would hate to unintentionally forgo showing proper respect to someone related to the ruler of your nation."

"Princess DeCirc is fine, as is Ambassador. Were we in my nation, the Imperium Animi or Spirit Empire, you would address me as "Your Highness", but we ae not in the Imperium, but rather your "Soul Society", so I will not stand on ceremony if that is acceptable to you. My escorts probably wouldn't approve, but I'm sure you're familiar with overly prideful men..." Lacus replied demurely, with a slight twitch of her eyebrow in Zaraki's direction. "I see that you have many questions for us, and I can assure you, we have many for you. But as this is your homeland, it is only right that you ask first. I will begin by assuring you, we are not here in an aggressive capacity with regards to the Soul Society. Your nation is barely even a myth to us, I didn't even believe you really existed until a short while ago. To think, that there are other Crusaders in the world besides those that follow my Father... though you are actually "Shinigami", aren't you?"

"That is good to know, Ambassador." Ukitake replied, assimilating the translation from Saukabe, hoping they weren't losing too much nuance in the translation from one language, to a median language and then into a language he and the other Captains could understand. He made a mental note to have Sasukabe instruct him in this common language as soon as possible, assuming Mayuri didn't come up with some sort of technological solution in the meanwhile. Shifting his gaze sideways a moment, using a hand across his mouth and a politely faked cough to disguise the motion, Ukitake eyed the Captain of the 12th, who seemed transfixed with studying Duke Morieth and Duke Elkiran for some reason. It was impossible to get a grip on what Mayuri was thinking beneath his mask and face paint, Ukitake just hoped the brilliant but often unhinged scientist wouldn't try and turn their guests into experimental subjects of some sort. "Please pardon our own reaction, we were not expecting guests and due to matters of internal concern, we have been on high alert lately. I can assure you, we have no hostile intentions towards the Imperium Animi or her people either. You are welcome to shelter within our walls for as long as you need to, though we will have to institute basic security precautions as a matter of course."

"Do whatever you need to in order to feel secure, short of demanding our weapons or try to incarcerate us." Lacus replied with a smile to show that she considered that to be a jest. "Our journey has been long and arduous, the chance to relax in a civilized environment, even such an exotic one as yours, will be greatly appreciated by my escorts. I doubt we will stay too long, as our mission is not yet complete, but I thank you for your offer of hospitality nonetheless."

"May I enquire as to the nature of this long and arduous mission you are on?" Retsu asked carefully, watching the other woman for any telltale signs of discomfort or evasiveness about the topic. She saw nothing of the sort, but then again, the composed features of the Princess might as well have been a stone mask. Getting a read on her was not going to be easy or quick.

"Of course. It's no real secret. My Father has dispatched my escorts to track down and capture or slay a notorious criminal of the Imperium Animi, who fled from our domain after committing the most heinous crime imaginable... open treachery against my Father's rule, even attempting to slay my Father in his own court! This assassination and revolt were unsuccessful, but even as they were crushed by the Imperium's armies, the revolt's leaders managed to gather a small group of supporters and fled East, beyond the bounds of the Imperium, into the great wilderness domains. I assigned myself to this mission in the interest of facilitating peaceful communication with any third party groups we might come across in pursuit of the mission, and also because I was the closest member of the family to the path the rebels took out of the Imperium, and thus best able to respond. I am a peaceful woman by nature, but I cannot tolerate an attack upon my Father, especially by someone whom he had placed great trust in..." Lacus replied, her face briefly becoming stormy as she related the brief tale.

"Why does this situation sound familiar?" Captain Hitsugaya put in from the sides of the table, where he was standing at attention, carefully eying the gathering of Crusaders, though the table was high enough off the ground that he had to almost stand on tiptoe to get his eye level above it.

"He's right. The parallels between their situation and the Winter War are striking." Ukitake acknowledged. "I don't suppose this was a military commander that went rogue, was it? Someone well liked by their peers? And when exactly did this criminal escape your borders?"

"Yes, he was a military commander. The Duke of Vengeance, Zacharis Vandire. As to his popularity I cannot say for sure, but I don't believe he was excessively social or comradely with the other Dukes. Vandire had a troubled past, he wasn't the sort to let others in. He rarely even took off his helm, I cannot recall having even seen his face in the century prior to his rebellion. Though, in retrospect, seeing as how his face has changed disturbingly from the man I once knew, perhaps there was a reason he kept his helmet on." Lacus replied, after a brief conversation with her subordinates, punctuated by a single explosive "HA!" of derision from Vladimo at the topic of Vandire's social tendencies. "As for when, well, we have been pursuing Vandire and his allies for almost fifteen hard years now. The wilderness domains of the Plus realms are much more expansive than I had ever realized. It feels like we've pursued him to the edge of the world ten times over already, and still he eludes us! But we are close now. I know we are..."

"FIFTEEN YEARS?" Captain Komamura was all but flabbergasted at the thought of the distances involved. Even with their supply train, the Crusaders should have been able to make almost fifty miles a day, perhaps more depending on their rapid movement abilities. Such a pace would take one from the gates of the Sereitei out to the edge of the 80th Rukongai district in slightly more than a week, and that was practically the edge of the world, as far as most Shinigami were concerned. No wonder they'd never heard of, or encountered these Crusaders before, if such a massive distance seperated the Soul Society and Imperium Animi that it would take a half dozen years of continuous Shunpo to bridge the borders! And since Senkaimon gates could only usually be erected between two known locations, one could only portal there if they first sent a delegation of their own across all that distance to set up the receiving gate!

"Excuse me, but how exactly do you know you are close to this Vandire person? What evidence do you have that you are still on the right track?" This was from Captain Kuchiki, speaking up as the Crusader delegation looked questioningly at Komamura's exclamation.

It was the Princess that spoke, but it was Kinkaid Grey and Mal Elkiran that actually provided the answer. "Vandire has a supply train of his own, and we have had several encoutners and near misses with him over the years. We've never been much more than a week or so behind him, though rarely closer than a full day behind either. At first I believed he was leading us on, into some sort of prepared trap or advantageous battlefield, but as the weeks become months, and the months years, I realized he had no greater strategy, and was merely fleeing for his life as best he could, and just lacked the resources to fully evade our pursuit. He was always a direct sort, unskilled at subterfuge."

"But did he not fool you and rebel unexpectedly in the first place? Obviously he is not so unskilled at masking his true intentions as you say." Byakuya pointed out, drawing frowns from the Crusaders.

"Perhaps." Was all that Kinkaid and Mal were willing to concede, at least publicly. "Though we would have thought 15 years to be a excessive time to wait to act while being hotly pursued by those determined to take your head and leave your body to rot in a shallow grave. In any case, we have recently discovered surefire proof of Vandire being in the area, within the borders of your Soul Society. His troops spent the night a few days ago at a settlement about a three day foot journey from here. But you already know about that, correct? Duke Elkiran reported seeing that young lady with the fierce frown exploring the area during his own investigation. Your Soul Society is the first major civilization we have encountered on our journey... everything else has been small holdfasts and wilderness villages, little better than savages or primitives, ekeing out bare bones sustenance from the wilds. There are many potential victims here... Vandire will be hard pressed to deny his troops a chance to loot and pillage freely after such a long retreat."

"So it's this man Vandire that's responsible for the massacre Captain Fon found." Ukitake felt his choler rise at the mere thought. "A criminal not only in his own lands but now ours as well."

"So they say, anyway." Soi Fon replied, suspiciously eyeing Duke Elkiran, who smiled in what was obviously a poor attempt a charm in reply. "Their story is very... convenient. It seems calibrated specifically to resonate with our own recent conflict involving Aizen, a bald faced play at sympathy to get us to lower our guard. I don't trust any of them, least of all that Princess. She's not telling us something important. I know it."

"Know it all you like, can you prove it?" Shunsui replied laconically, greeted only with a dour look in reply, which earned a small sigh from him. "Well then, lacking real evidence to contradict their story, I don't see as we have much choice but to believe what they say, for the time being anyway. Yama-jii?"

**"What do you suppose they're chattering about now?"** Vladimo commented, not so quietly, to the others, eyeing the animated conversation or debate going on amongst the Shinigami Captains.

**"I imagine they're trying to decide whether they believe her Highness's explanation of our mission."** Mal replied, keeping his attention fixed on the short captain with the braids and the frown. It was bothering her, he could all but smell the annoyance wafting off of her, but that more encouraged him than dissauded him. An irritated person could be relied on to be less effective than one in perfect control of their mental state. He surmised that she was his opposite number amongst these "Shinigami" people, and idly wondered how such an expressive and impatient person could have ever been selected for such an important position. These foreigners sure were strange...

**"Her Highness would never lie! How dare they even entertain such a disrespectful..."** Alyster began to protest, his eyes flaring with wounded pride, before Lacus placed her hand on his arm to quiet him, a small smile taking the sting out of the rebuke.

**"It's their right to be suspicious, Alyster. We are after all, strangers in their realm. It would indeed be remiss of them if they did immediately believe every word I say. I certainly wouldn't expect it of them were our positions reversed. Time, and our GOOD BEHAVIOUR, will show the truth for what it is."** Lacus stressed those two words while looking specifically at Mal and Vladimo, who endeavored to look slightly bashful and lazily innocent respectively, and miserably failed with both.

"Captain Kurotsuchi, you've been quiet." Captain-General Yamamoto said, cracking one eyelid to stare at his 12th Captain.

"Well, had I known you expected me to tender inane commentary without proper observation and correlation of data first, I would have spoken up earlier, rest assured." Mayuri replied curtly, as usual treading on the very line between disrespect and outright hostility with his words and snooty tone. "I will submit a full report of my observations and recommendations in due course. In the meanwhile, I would like to be the first to offer the 12th Division chambers as accomodations for our "guests". We have lots of room in the 12th, plenty of extra beds. Secure beds." Mayuri's golden eyes tilted towards the crimson haired Princess. "There's so much I... I mean we... could learn from a close inspection of these "guests". Yes, a very close inspection indeed."

"Well, why don't we just stab them in the back now, and get the war started off properly?" Kenpachi added with brutal sarcasm. "I wouldn't let a rabid dog stay overnight in the 12th Division. Better to just cut off it's head cleanly."

"Yes, let us run headlong into conflict with beings that have already demonstrated powers equivalent to Captain class Soul Reapers, and, in the case of this "Princess", power beyond anything any of us have encountered before. That is obviously the BEST course of action..." Mayuri rolled his eyes in long suffering exasperation, each eye swiveling seperately in a deeply disconcerting fashion. "Perhaps I should find you a banana to stuff your face with, to spare us any more of your moronic blatherings, you neurologically impaired, unwashed ape."

"And perhaps I should finally cut your fucking freaky painted head off your scarecrow shoulders and mount it on my wall..." Kenpachi made as if to rise, hand going to his sword hilt, a bestial smile breaking out across his face as he allowed himself to be stared back down into his set by Retsu. Couldn't let the clown-freak think he could just say whatever the hell he wanted to. Though truth be told, he was far more interested in squaring off with the guy in blue and red. It would be a long time befoe Kenpachi forgot that mocking hand gestue made directly to his face. He couldn't even recall the last time someone had so blatantly challenged him. Not even that six armed Espada had been that brazen. Dismissive, yes, but not brazen. Kenpachi was used to people dismissing him and looking down on him, for his habits or his past or just on general principle. He wasn't used to being looked in the face and taunted. It made his blood boil... in the way he liked. He hadn't felt this pumped up since his first battle with Ichigo!

"I have decided." Yamamoto intoned gruffly, pointedly ignoring the bickering of his most troublesome subordinates. Though to be honest, all of his subordinates were troublesome in one fashion or another, they were all very opinionated and self confident people, with ego's to match. Conflict between them was not only natural but normal and even desirable, as long as that conflict stayed in the realm of words, gestures and sarcasm. It kept them all on their toes. Complacancy was the greatest foe of efficiency after all. And in the wake of the Winter War, Yamamoto had privately sworn to himself that he would never allow himself to become complacant ever again. He did not trust these foreigners any more than Captain Fon did, nor did he like them, or desire their presence in the Sereitei. However, despite these misgivings, he couldn't just toss them out on their ears either. It would be an unforgivable insult to the traditions of honorable propriety, as these people had not yet offered any true insult or harm to the Soul Society.

Furthermore, if what he was beginning to suspect was true regarding this Princess DeCirc, he wasn't even sure he COULD throw her out on her ear. Well, he could, the option was always there, it was just a matter of the consequences and whether he was willing to accept them. If his superiors in the Royal Realm found out that he'd tossed a fellow Royal, even a foreigner, unceremoniously out his door, he could very well lose his position as Captain-General! Or at the very least suffer a heavy reprimand. It was quite a quandry... in the Soul Society, Royalty never left their secure realm, and communicated through several buffer layers of flunkies. It had been almost two millenia since Yamamoto had seen anyone from the Royal Realm in the flesh, and that time had been when he was ordered to create the Gotei 13! The idea of a free roaming Royal, much less a family of them, was shocking to say the least. For one of the very few times in his extensive life, Yamamoto had no previous precedent for how to handle this kind of situation. Caution was therefore warranted. Best to take things slow, feel his way, rather than rely on his usual snap second judgement calls. The last thing he needed to do was provoke a war between Soul Reaper Realms. That would be absolutely unforgivable.

What he really needed was an emissary from the Royal Realm, because this Princess DeCirc was almost certainly above his pay grade, to use the vernacular of some of his subordinates. Yamamoto was imbued with tremendous authority and autonomity, and in practice ruled the Sereitei in a military governership, while publicly acknowledging the advice of the Central 46 judiciary, he wasn't entriely obligated to follow their dictates slavishly, though this was a closely held secret. They were an elected body after all, while his position was a Royal decree. It had never really come down to a real conflict in authority, as he was content to play along with their decisions for the most part, and they never found out about the times he sidestepped them, so everyone was happy. But as far as negotiating with Royalty, he wasn't sure what he said could really be binding. But he needed to buy some time, so his word would have to do for the time being.

"Princess DeCirc..." Yamamoto said through Sasukabe. "By the authority invested in me as Captain-General of the 13 Court Guard Divisions, I hereby provisionally welcome you and your escorts to our Soul Society. You are welcome to stay for as long as you deem fit, and have full use of our facilities, barring those normally off limits to uncleared personnel. I would ask that you stay within the Court of Pure Souls itself for the time being however, in the interest of heading off any potential misunderstandings before they can occur. One of our currently unused Divisional Headquarters will be set aside for your use during your stay, and I am glad to offer the assistance of the Court Guard in tracking down and apprehending or slaying this criminal Vandire. Captain Ukitake will show you to your quarters for the night. I apologize for the delay, but I have other issues to attend to, so I will speak with you again at our regularly scheduled briefing tomorrow afternoon. If you have any other needs in the meanwhile, Captain Ukitake will act as my proxy and will do his best to procure them for you."

"I thank you for your generosity and hospitality, my Lord Captain-General Yamamoto." Lacus replied with a heartfelt smile, as she stood and made some sort of gesture, dipping her body without actually making a bow, though judging from the reactions of the Dukes, she'd just done the Captain-General a nearly unheard of honor. "We will gladly take residence in your provided accomodations for the night, and we deeply appreciate your understanding and patience. I will personally assure you of my subordinates good conduct while we remain in your homes, and I gladly accept your assistance in tracking down Vandire and his cult while they remain within your borders. Your local knowledge could very well be the advantage we need to finally corner that heinous man once and for all. I look forward to speaking with you again tomorrow, and perhaps then we can discuss more permanent matters." Lacus continued, a slight twinkle in her eye telling Yamamoto that she had figured out that he was stalling for time because he needed to get confirmation on his negotiating powers. She stepped around the table, every motion a portrait of noble grace that put even Captain Kuchiki to shame, offering her hand to Joushiro, who took it with aplomb, though he was unfamiliar with the exact custom.

"Shall we go then?" Lacus asked, her intonation of Japanese still a little rough, but leagues better than she had been only an hour or so ago at the North Gate, without long pauses or misused words. She was plainly learning their language at a frightening rate, and the Shinigami Captains all shared uncomfortable glances, wondering just how much of their dicussions she had overheard and understood. Lacus was far too polite to smile at their discomfiture, but any good diplomat knew that the sooner you could put your opponent on the back foot, the sooner you would start negotiating from a position of strength. These people seemed like fairly nice sorts, but that wasn't going to stop her from utilizing them to the best advantage of the Imperium whenever possible. She had a duty to her people, her Father and her Realm after all.

xxxx

**Soul Society, Rukongai District 61 East, January 13th, Afternoon**

The sky was so blue here, Lilia Derraster thought, lying on her back in a field of grasses and staring up at the expanse of bright azure, punctuated by small flocks of fleecy white clouds. Not that the sky wasn't blue back home in the Imperium, but it was so often tainted with the smoke of wartime industry or seige that it was rare to get a good glimpse at true blue sky. This was the sky of a peaceful land, and she was taking every opportunity to enjoy it the fullest, because she knew that the days of peace were numbered now that Zach had arrived. At one point in time in her, not that many decades ago, the idea of the conflict to come would have horrified and even sickened her. That had been before Zach had come into her life, or rather her into his, and he had helped strip away the gauzy blinders of ignorance that she had unwittingly worn for her entire previous life. Seeing the world as it really was, a mire of enforced ignorance and corruption perpetuated by a ruling, near immortal elite with no real accountability to the masses, was not a gift. It was a burden, and a heavy one, but it was one she was glad to be able to bear. Now that she could see the world order for what it was, she could finally take action against it, to tear it down so that a better one could eventually come into existence!

Stalks of grasses penetrated through seams in her Ornatus Sancti, her blessed armor of heavy metal plates that covered her from neckline to toetips, with a helm for her head in times of battle. The grasses poked at her, but were blunted by the layers of leather and chain and thick cloth that she wore as padding and additional protection beneath her plate, the additional weight and warmth of the layers all but forgotten after decades of wearing her Ornatus Sancti in every imaginable weather and situation, often for days at a time without taking it off. It was gross, but that was life on the battlefield for you. And better to stew in your own grime and body fluids encased in your Ornatus Sancti than bare your soft flesh to the merciless claws and fangs of the numberless Daemon hordes that regularly assaulted the fortress-towns and cities of the Imperium. Even the irritation of the grass stalks was welcome to Lilia, as there were few grassy fields remaining in the Imperium, most open spaces having been churned to mud and bare ground by innumberable battles over the millenia.

The familiar scent of smoke tickled her nostrils, and reminded her that she had not yet broken her fast for the day, because she had actually had the luxury of sleeping in for the first time in years! It was only an extra three hours, but still, when you were a fugitive from the oppressive elite, even such a short period of rest time was worth her own weight in gold and steel! Their pursuers were dogmatic and fanatical in their hatred, and even after fifteen years of searching for a place beyond the reach of the Imperium and their corruption and stagnation, still they were given no peace! It was beginning to look like Zach had been right all along. They would have to turn and fight, or else they'd never be free! It pained her to have to turn her blades against her former fellows, decieved as they were by the lies of the established order, but she couldn't allow the spark of freedom that she and her friends represented to be stamped out, no matter that it meant spilling the blood of others in order to survive!

Clambering to her feet, taking the time to enjoy the soreness of her body... part of the reason she'd slept in so late was that she and Zach had finally had a night to spend together uninterrupted, for what felt like the first time in months, and they had both been ravenous in their desires, Lilia adjusted the sheathes of her dual blade Arma Sancti, Libertate, one curved saber hilt protruding over either shoulder pauldron, within easy reach of her hands, ready to be deployed at an instant's notice. It was normal for a Crusader to wear their Arma Sancti and Ornatus Sancti pretty much everywhere they went, as battle was an ever present risk in the Imperium, even in the safest cities, but life on the run had made her feel like her Arma was a physical part of her, like extra bones attached to her back. The thought of being without them within touching distance, even while she was in Zach's bedroll, was both horrifying and laughable.

Fifteen years of living on the run had taught them all a great deal about camouflaging their campsites so that they were all but invisible to a casual glance, most of the unit opting for lean to's and makeshift shelters made from tree branches and soil which blended perfectly into the forest, rather than the few tents they still carried with them. They were a band of misfits, the majority hailing from Zach's old unit, the Vengeance Squadron, but there were handfuls from pretty much every Squadron of the Imperial Armies. Lilia herself was formerly of the Order Squadron, though she had been all but officially a member of Vengeance ever since her relationship with Duke Vandire had become more than just evaluator and evaluee. She was all but within the camp before she saw any signs that there was a camp there at all, her progress unimpeded by sentries scattered along the perimeter, everyone within the unit now recognizing everyone else by sight by now.

Though Lilia had held no particular rank while in the Order Squadron, and no official rank within Vengeance, her status as Duke Vandire's lover and confidante had resulted in a great deal of reflected respect and eventually responsibility being attributed to her. She was his second in command, and in truth she spent more time with most of the unit, both in and out of battle, than Zach himself did. She was also his keeper, though no one phrased in that way for fear of their very life. Because the bald truth of things was that Duke Zacharis Vandire, Lord of Venegance Squadron, the visionary leader that would eventually create a new world order from the ashes of the old system, was more than a little bit unhinged. To be more blunt, he was crazy, barking mad even, though Lilia had never actually heard him bark or howl like a beast. Yet. It was a lucid, charming madness, rather than gibbering or foaming or disconnection from reality, but madness was madness, and the only choke on his excesses was Lilia herself. She was the only one who could drag him back from plummeting forever over the edge into murderous, chaotic insanity.

But far from degrading his rapport with his soldiers, Zach's very irrationality and warped illogic seemed to only enhance his charisma and presence, at least amongst those were strong enough to cast off the shackles of ignorance and willful blindness that the ruling elite placed upon their subjects at birth. He was a being completely unfettered by the rules of society and ethics, a purely free entity that cavoted and danced with chaos itself, never the same from one moment to the next, yet always unmistakably himself. Perhaps it was as he often said... he wasn't really crazy, he'd just transcended the limited concept of sanity that the rest of the world held. He was enlightened, and they were still all but blind and deaf to the deeper truths of reality that were plain as day to him. His absolute confidence was infectious, his strength and surety contagious, so that even when morale was at its lowest, one only had to put your faith in Duke Vandire, and one would find all the stength and determination one needed.

Though privately, Lilia was still fairly sure her lover was cracked and seriously unhinged, but that didn't make her love him any less, if anything, this secret understanding between them, this unspoken, unrealized vulnerability only she could see, tied them ever more tightly together. He was her savior and her guide, but she was his anchor, his totem that kept him grounded and centered and focused. Though occasionally their very closeness led to certain conflicts, such as when she tried to reign in certain excesses, such as his actions of several nights prior, when he and a significant portion of the unit fell upon that town of farmers and lost themselves in a blood soaked orgy. Lilia had seen worse before, but not much worse, and she'd made the hard decision, after being nearly thrown through a building by her raving lover, that perhaps this was a battle that was better off conceded before it was entirely lost. It was unfortunate, but if a night of perverse bloodlust would result in a week or more of coherence, then it was worth the price.

Snagging a stick of roasting meat from a campfire without slowing down, throwing good natured insults over her shoulder at the cluster of Vengeance soldiers that had been lounging nearby, cleaning their armor and weapons of blood and rust now that they finally had some free time in which to do so, Lilia headed for the large crimson tent that was the headquarters for the Vandire unit. It was also the quarters of Duchess Lorensol, and sometimes where Lilia and Zach slept too, when space was tight, though thankfully that had not been the case last night. Lilia's opinion was still divided on the issue of the Duchess, whom she respected enormously, as both a woman and a fighter, yet managed to still dislike on a personal level. Perhaps it was just jealousy... after all, the Duchess was Zach's only real peer amongst the unit, the only one who wasn't in some way obligated to follow his orders but could rathe go her own way, not that she usually did. And she knew that Zach had spent the night with the Duchess before, back at home in the Imperium. A necessary diversion, he'd called it, though his tone was unapologetic when she'd confronted him about this breach of fidelity. "Do as thou wilt" was Zach's favorite command, and one of the tenets by which he governed his own life, trying to nail him down in any way was destined to failure.

Tearing off strips of succulent game bird with her teeth, hot grease dribbling down her chin, Lilia nodded at the tent sentries as they uncrossed their heavy halberds from her path, allowing her access to the command tent interior. A folding table was set up in the center of the space, crude maps of the surrounding area placed upon it, held down with wooden goblets and plates, some of which still had traces of food or drink on them. Zacharis sat to one side, or rather reclined on a makeshift cot made from mattress materials looted from the raid on the town, some of them still stained with the blood of their previous owners, which wasn't very hygenic, but then again, blood had never bothered Zach. He was relaxed, his own Ornatus Sancti, heavy plate and chain as was standard for the Vengeance Squadron, stacked haphazardly to the side of his couch. Duchess Lorensol stood nearby, shrugging back into her own Ornatus Sancti, which was patterned after studded leather armor rather than the heavier plate or chain mail, as befitted someone whose Squadron didn't see a lot of frontline combat time.

Lilia suspiciously eyed the Duchess, who was a striking woman, enormously tall for her sex, almost six and a half feet from heels to crown, with a lithe form and long limbs, she had many admirerers amongst the men of the unit, especially with her milk pale skin and white streaked red hair that flowed heavily to her midback. Lilia did her best to sniff unobrtusively, nostrils searching for the musk of sex, but all she scented was the aroma of her roasted fowl. Stuffing feelings of jealousy and mistrust back down into a dark corner of her mind, Lilia dropped to one knee by her Lord and lover's side, brushing her own waist length blue hair out of the way as she proffered him a bit of her game stick. Zach had almost certainly already eaten, but then again, he was always hungry, and this time proved no different. Smirking in his usual fashion, he allowed her to feed him, taking a huge chunk of the roasted bird, the stick itself splintering as he chewed through it. This wasn't hard for Zach, his teeth, indeed his entire facial structure, weren't entirely human. Not anymore.

She was still unsure on the exact details of what had happened to Zach, and if anyone else knew, they were either dead or keeping very quiet about it. She supposed that his features might be frightening or unsettling to those viewing them for the first time, what with the feral cast to his features, and the mouth full of jagged jangs as long as her fingers, and the eyes of solid black with crimson red slit pupils, he looked very much like some forms of Daemon. Which was only apt, she supposed, since Zach claimed his altered appearance came into being because of his accord with his "Inner Daemon", whatever that meant. Monster he might appear and act, he was still definitely all human where it counted. Still, it took a strong stomach to watch those fangs rend and masticate the meat and stick alike, and Lilia diverted her attention by nibbling at the pitiful remnants he had left her. She should have remembered that Zach always took more than he was offered, it was just his way. Give him an inch, and he'd take miles and miles.

Propping himself up on one arm, Zacharis Vandire swallowed the mouthful of meat and sllowed his face to settle once more into its usual expression of a toothy grin that would have strained the limits of his human mouth, were he entirely human once again. Fortunately such a pitiful state of existence was far in the past for him. Cupping Lilia's chin in one cheek, tilting her face to the side, smirk widening as he scented her hidden jealousy all but pouring off of her, he brushed her jawline with a mollifying kiss before rolling to his feet, leaving her kneeling, a bit flustered, at his side. Claudia, the former Duchess Lorensol of the Hospitaler Order, just glanced over at them with her carmine red eyes and snorted, softly enough for Lilia to pretend she did not hear the tone of derision. Personally, Claudia found the little games her peer and his second played with each other to be disgusting and childish, but she refrained from pointing this out. Derraster was one thing, she could kill the blue-haired wench at any time of her choosing, but Vandire was not so easily confronted or appeased when angered.

Slinging her blood red cloak around her shoulders, and tightening the hip baldric she wore her Arma, Cruor, upon, Claudia gave one more perfunctory nod to Vandire, before striding regally out of the tent, to attend to the business they had mutually been discussing prior to Lilia's arrival. She could almost pity the girl, who was caught up in a web of deception and half truths far more pervasive than she could ever dream, but pity was one of those soft emotions that Claudia was doing her best to eradicate from herself. Almost a thousand years of giving out pity, sympathy and kindness to those who took her hard work and that of her Squadron for granted, and then later ridiculed them and belittled their accomplishments, and Claudia was tired of it all, bone weary even! Too long had Cruor only staunched wounds, rather than created them, and had it not been for Vandire's intervention, Claudia had doubt that she herself would have soon been committed to a Sanitorium as her peer and friend once had been. And she somehow doubted that even 150 years in such a hellhole would be enough for her to sort herself back out again, as he had! No, she was fortunate indeed for Vandire's friendship and support, and she would continue to strive to prove herself worthy of his deepest trust!

"Hail, Mouse." Zach commented lazily, as Lilia stood once more. "I prefer you on your knees, you know?"

"And how do you prefer Lorensol?" Lilia retorted, taking a tart tone with him that she never would have dared were other people around, striving not to react to the affection he packed into his little pet name for her. She did not and would never doubt his love for her, but with Zach, love did not entail fidelity, the concepts literally did not match up in his mind. Getting mad at him would get her nowhere, it would only get him frustrated and mad too, and he was much better and being both than she was. And far more destructive in such moods as well.

"She does better bent over the table." Zach replied with a shrug and a yawn, stifling a chuckle at the dirty look the Mouse sent his way. One would think after almost fifty years of being together with him, she'd learn not to ask questions she really didn't want the answers to. Then again, her stubborn refusal to learn was one of her endearing qualities, it was endlessly amusing. He playfully reached out and tweaked her chin once more. "Jealousy becomes you, Mouse. Listen to it. Let it stoke your feelings like a forge fire. Let the darkness in. You'll find it comforting. The night is nothing to be frightened of, when you are the darkness itself."

"One of these days, I'll finally figure out just what the hell you're hinting at when you say such things." Lilia shook her head in exasperation, tossing aside her now empty and splintered stick of roasted fowl. "Unlike you, I don't have voices in my head telling me to do things."

"Of course you do, Mouse. Everyone does. You just don't know how to listen to them yet." Vandire shrugged and gestured to his piled armor. "Gird me, Mouse. I've lounged around enough, I've things to do yet today."

"Yes, sir." Lilia replied, shrugging aside her irritation and helping him don his midnight dark armor, starting with the sabatons for his feet and calves, moving on to the greaves for his legs, then the cuirass for his torso, each piece fitting into place like sections of a steel jigsaw puzzle. "I don't suppose you're actually going to tell me what you're thinking of doing, for once? And why we stopped running? And what's so special about these strange foreigners whose land we now reside in?"

"For once, I am." He replied, though he did not extrapolate further, greeting her dark looks with ever widening smiles until it looked like his bared teeth were going to wrap all the way around his skull. "Or rather I'm going to show you, and assume you're smart enough to figure the rest of it out for yourself. And we were NEVER running, Mouse. Coming to this area was the goal all along. They only THINK they were chasing me, but it is really I that was leading them here. As for what is special about these "Soul Society" sorts? Absolutely nothing, Mouse, save two things. They're foreigners and they are organized. That's all that matters." Armor fitted, Vandire leaned down and picked up his very distinctive Arma Sancti, the Falx Mortis, or Deathscythe. Lilia might handle his armor, his clothing, even his bare flesh, but she would never be allowed to touch the Falx Mortis. That was his and his alone.

Leading the way out of the tent, one hand choked up high on the dark wooden shaft of his Arma so that he held it like a walking staff, Vandire accepted the salutes of nearby soldiers with a casual nod and grin, his mind occupied with matters more weighty than mere formalities, the Mouse striding a careful step behind him, as befitted a Lieutenant officer. It was not a long walk, barely a minute or two, to the far edge of the camp, the edge that led deeper into this trackless forest proper, to the section of camp that he had set aside for "investigative procedures". It was something he and Claudia had devised during their long journey, whenever they could set up camp for more than a day at a time, they would establish an place in which they could study the indigenous life of the area. Currently, they had three specimens on hand, though they'd had four last night, before Claudia had conducted an exhaustive dissection to determine that the native creatures were indeed standard Plus souls, despite their strange outward appearances.

Her merticulously sorted and displayed experimentation results hung from hooks and chains at one edge of the cleared section of campsite, in plain view of the remaining three specimens, who were bound to cruciform sections of wood that hung from sturdy tree branches. Two of the captives, local peasants in ragged and worn robes, were half hysterical, their eyes bulging in their sockets, dirty black hair plastered to their faces by sweat and tears as they panted for breath, their arms and legs numbed from hanging on the wooden crosses all night long, the screams of their friend ringing in their ears as Claudia "investigated" his biology with her fingers and saws and cutting blades and needles. One of Claudia's underlings, dressed in the red and white leather armor and apron of the Hospitaler Squadron, with a tall peaked cap of white cloth covering his facial features, was cleaning the examination table, though dignifying the open frame of branches and wooden planks with such a term was perhaps a little generous. Well, table or rack or bench, whatever you wanted to call it, it accomplished its purpose of holding the specimen steady while Claudia worked her magic.

However, it was the third captive that Vandire was interested it. This one, also a male, wore finer garments, dyed black robes that were apparently the military uniform of soldiers in this realm, and he was less debilitated by his night on the cross, though substantially the worse for the wear nonetheless, as it had taken some doing to subdue him in the first place, since it was always harder to take someone alive than dead. Especially when these soldiers neglected to wear any sort of armor at all, they were like turtles out of their shells, you were afraid to even touch them with a weapon in case they split open! That had been the fate of the rest of the ten strong unit of soldiers that Vandire and his patrol had stumbled across the day before... they all split open when struck with even the slightest force. Striding up to the tree the soldier's cross dangled from, Vandire stared up at the hanging man with a contemplative expression on his twisted face. The soldier grumbled something at him in the sing song language that was prevalent around these parts, his tone both bleary and defiant.

Three lightning fast swings of Falx Mortis's dark grey blade later, and the black robed soldier was crumpled on the ground, his arms and legs unable to support him after being benumbed by lack of blood circulation for hours and hours. The soldier spat something else derisive in his foreign tongue, his defiance soon crumbling into a shriek of pain as Vandire leaned down and hoisted the man first to his feet and then into the air like he was a sack of vegetables, gauntleted fingers digging into the soldier's collar until the bones there snapped like dry twigs, compound fractures that ripped outwards through the man's skin as he howled like a singed Daemon, his skin growing increasingly pale as slippery blood dribbled down his chest and soaked into his robes. Reeling the shuddering man in, Vandire brought them face to face, studying the whimpering man from all angles like he was a suit of clothing that he was thinking of purchasing. Finally, he grunted with both understanding and satisfaction, though grudging at that.

"I suppose he'll have to do." Vandire grumbled, looking to the Hospitaler as he dropped the shivering Shinigami to the ground at his side. "Saw." He ordered, teeth scraping against each other in a grating cadence.

"Now hold on a second, Zach, don't tell me that..." Lilia started to protest, getting a bad feeling about what the Duke of Vengeance was planning. She knew how he thought, and more important, she knew what he was capable of, and those two things combined to leave a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. Not that she was really concerned for this black robed foreigner, she was just concerned for Zach. He was not a good person, and never had been. She knew this. But regardless, the more evil he committed, the more evil he became, it was a vicious, endless cycle. And there was a line that, once crossed, could not be uncrossed, where the Zach she knew would be forever gone, replaced with a homicidal beast forevermore. "This isn't a good idea." She informed him flatly, before being silenced by a snarl of irritation.

"I didn't ask for your opinion on it, Mouse." Vandire replied coldly, as he accepted the bone saw from the trembling surgeon. "This is the only way for my plans to proceed in a timely fashion. Believe me, I don't look forward to it. This... this meat... at my feet is hardly the form I would choose to wear were there any other option." Vandire suddenly backhanded the kneeling Shinigami along the side of his temple, cracking the side of his skull like an eggshell, and knocking the man into a bleeding heap on the ground. Holding the saw up high, Vandire crouched over the stunned Shinigami and pinned the man down with one armored knee to his sternum. "I know you can't understand my words, ugly duckling, but I'm sure you get my drift anyway, so if you would please scream in abject terror now, that would be nice..." he crooned to the bleary eyed Shinigami, as he began lowering the saw blade towards the side of the man's head.

Lilia turned away as the screaming, high pitched and awful, began, soon underscored by the sound of steel serrated teeth biting into bone as Zach scalped the thrashing soldier, cutting the entire top section of his skull apart like it was a melon. This wasn't the first time she'd ever seen her lover utilize this ability, but it never failed to get to her all the same. There was no relief when the pinioned Shinigami's screams at last died away to gurgles, as that was when then the slurping and chewing and gnawing sounds began, as Zach began consuming the brain and nervous system of his selected pawn, scooping pink smeared grey matter from the opened skull like a beggar gulping down vegetable gruel. Soon the sounds of feasting were accompanied by the sounds of bones shifting, skin and muscles sliding and scraping, as Zach's form began to morph into a replica of the Shinigami whose brain and memories he was consuming. His black armor blurred and became bloodstained black robes, the Falx Mortis likewise changed appearance, taking the form of the single edged swords these soldiers all carried. It wasn't quite shapechanging, but it wasn't really illusion either, something of a mixture of both. None of Zach's physical abilities changed, he merely took on the appearance of whomever he devoured for a short time, perhaps a few days at most.

The appearance and at least some of the memories that is, at least enough to speak the common languages of the area and to blend in with a foreign culture without many overt signs that he wasn't who he appeared to be. It was the perfect infiltration power, but the method was so grisly that Lilia detested the thought of using it, no matter how effective it might be. Unfortunately, Zach hadn't been in a listening mood. She finally turned around once again, once the chewing and slobbering sounds were finished. Doing her best not to stare at the ruined remnants of a former Plus soul lying on the ground, Lilia fixed the disheveled looking Shinigami with the blood and bits of matter covered face and hands with an arch look. "You're hideous."

"I feel hideous." Zach-Shinigami replied with a grimace, carefully walking around the clearing a few times, trying to get his stride right, which was tougher than it might seem, given that he didn't want to betray the fact that he was wearing full plate mail when he appeared to be wearing robes. He probably looked like he had a steel rod up his ass, judging from the Mouse's not entirely successful attempts to keep a grin off her face, but such was the price of this method. "Claudia has my orders for the next few days. You are to listen to her as if she were me. I won't be amused if I return to find you at each other's throats over some petty issue. My plans are finally reaching a critical stage, we have no more time for frivolity."

"Just be careful, would you? We need you, Zach. All of us, but especially me. Especially now." Lilia bit her lip, knowing that Zach hated public displays of affection between them.

"Mouse, I shall be the very spectre of caution, I assure you..."

"I believe the expression is "soul of caution", Zach..."

"Perhaps, but since when have I ever been such a simple thing as a mere soul...?"


	6. Your House, My Fortress

Author Note: Lots of strange stuff been going on with the site of late it seems. My forum tab has disappeared from my profile, and it seems to be a universal affliction. I've posted a link to the forums at the bottom of my profile for the time being, and I welcome any input you might choose to give me on any of a wide variety of topics. Well, anyway, the intro arc is over, most the characters have been introduced, so now its time to get to know them better, as our two factions go through that whole, awkward "new roommate" process and adjust to each other. I plan to have a lot of fun with this arc, which will be eight chapters long, starting with this one, Your House, My Fortress. Then Your Gardens, My Pastures; Your Misfits, my Comrades; Your Spies, My Playmates; Your Crusaders, My Troublemakers; Your Justice, My Abuse; Your Training, My Bloodsport; and finally Your Daemons, My Hollows. The first 4 will be Crusader centric viewpoints, the latter 4 Shinigami centric. Translators will appear in "Your Training..." chapter, so until then, the usual "Normal" for Shinigami, **"Bold"** for Crusaders and "Underline" for common translation will hold true, at least in scenes where mixed conversations are taking place.

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, Fifth Division Headquarters (Unused), January 13th, 3:00 pm**

**"What kind of headquarters is this?"** Alyster commented with dismay, staring around the section of walled off city that their delegation had been apparently allocated for living space. It was quite spacious and looked very well kept, the paved courtyards swept, the gardens pruned and well watered, the groves of trees and beds of flowers laid out with artful grace and precision, the buildings were freshly painted or washed, the wood and paper panels **showing** no signs of rot and blemishes. Some effort had obviously been made recently, on the sly, to spruce the place up, but the aesthetics of the place weren't the Duke of Order's concern! Who cared how pretty the place was when it was obviously all but defenseless! The outer walls were barely ten feet high and didn't have any ramparts, palisades or even attached walkways for sentries to stand upon! There were dozens of small, mostly unsecured gates penetrating the perimeter wall, in addition to the large front gates, which lacked any form of gatehouse or other fortifications! There didn't appear to be any deep wells or sources of water other than ornamental ponds which would barely last a week in case of a seige, and there didn't appear to be any centrally defended vault for provisions at all! **"How do these people sleep at night without being murdered in their beds? This place wouldn't last ten days if a major enemy force came knocking. Hell, it might not even last ten hours!"**

**"Well, they are inside a larger fortress's defensive works."** Kinkaid pointed out with a frown, as he too cast critical eyes over the nonexistent defensive fortifications of their allocated quarters. If it weren't for the fact that he had seen several other divisional quarters, and they were all as vulnerable and defenseless as this one, he might have thought their hosts were trying to set them up for treachery of some sort. He wouldn't keep pigs in a place this unsecure, much less bed down there himself! Was this foreign land truly that peaceful, that they didn't even bother to set up basic defensive fortifications at their military unit headquarters? It boggled the mind. **"But I concur, this simply won't do. It won't do at all."** He cast a frosty gaze along the groups of lounging Crusaders who had been escorted here prior to their arrival, causing many of them, regardless of Squadron, to stiffen to attention and regard him attentively. **"What are you all standing around like gentles at a town fair for? Have you all gone soft in the head? MAKE CAMP AND MAKE IT FAST! WE ARE STILL IN HOSTILE TERRITORY UNTIL I SAY OTHERWISE AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE SLACKERS!"** Kinkaid hollered the last sentences loud enough to make the closest Crusaders flinch.

"What the heck are they yelling about?" Kiyone Kotetsu, joint 3rd seat of 13th Division, complained, covering her ears with her white gloved hands as she looked with annoyance at the grey haired, cold eyed, lanky giant of a foreigner. She was answered a second later when the gathered Crusaders began breaking into small parties and running to their parked supply wagons, uncarting bundles of tools, rope, canvas bags and other, less identifiable things. There was a lot of hubbub and chaos, all gibberish to her ears, but at the same time they were clearly all moving with purpose, in a definite pattern made easy through long familiarity and constant repetition. She and the other Shinigami officers escorting the Princess and her aides towards the Captain's quarters paused a moment to watch with bemusement that rapidly turned to shock and mild horror, as the Crusader work teams inexplicably began attack the courtyard and gardens with picks and shovels and pry bars with great gusto, tearing up the ground as they began digging trenches and carting away the dirt in huge piles. "WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING?" Kiyone screamed, having just spent some considerable effort of her own supervising the extra cleanup of the 5th Division quarters in preparation for the Crusader's arrival.

**"Damn, she's a noisy one."** Mal commented irritably, cupping his own ears as he leaned away from the blond haired girl. **"She looks like she's never seen anyone set up a war camp before. What kind of utopia is this place, where they not only don't put up defensive fortifications around military outposts, but don't even seem familiar with the mere CONCEPT of doing so?"**

**"Well, just look around you, man. They make their building doors out of paper and wooden struts."** Vladimo pointed out, watching as a unit of disgruntled Crusaders from his squadron went to scavenge some wood from some outbuildings, only to find that most of it was too flimsy for use as anything other than kindling. **"It's obvious that this city has never suffered a major invasion or seige. This entire place is a tinderbox waiting to ignite with just a single volley of fire arrows."** He shook his head in despair. **"Well, there go my hopes of actually finding anyone strong to fight with here. What kind of strength could come from living in such luxury? Fruitcake must be all bark, because anyone with bite wouldn't dare live in such a weak castle. That's disappointing."**

"... Madame Princess, what exactly are your people doing to our grounds? Have we done something to offend you somehow?" Ukitake asked, through Vice-Captain Sasukabe, as both Shinigami watched with confusion and some little worry as the Crusader work teams made rapid progress in digging a ten foot deep, ten foot wide trench in close proximity to the inside edge of the outer wall that borded all Divisional spaces. The excavated dirt was then piled up on the courtyard side edge of this trench, forming a heavily packed berm of dirt and stones about ten feet tall and wide. Other teams were working with fire magic of some sort to bake the dirt wall and trench so that it became as hard and solid as fired clay, even as others were removing bundles of sharpened wooden stakes, which were rammed into the sides of the palisade and the trench floor so that both surfaces bristled with wicked looking spikes. More sturdy wooden beams were being erected into an additional five foot high wall protruding from the top of the dirt palisade, and yet more beams were being used to construct some sort of rasied platforms or open sided towers at the main corners of the courtyard.

"Hm? No... I don't know what you me... oh, you mean the setting up of our nightly camp? I apologize for the crudity of their efforts, but you don't seem to have any ready supplies of heavy stone or other, more suitable materials for fortress building, so I'm afraid dirt and wood will have to do for the time being. I'm sure it will become more clean cut and secure as time goes on, especially if we are to stay here for any extended length of time." Lacus cocked her head questioningly, though she privately concurred with her subordinates in the thought that these Shinigami obviously lived in a paradise world of some sort, if they were so confused by the sight of simple defensive precautions on a dedicated military site. She sighed inside with envy... if only the Imperium could be blessed with such peace, how much more she would enjoy life there. She considered ordering the fortifications stopped, out of courtesy for their bemused hosts, but truth be told, she didn't have the energy for the ensuing battle of wills with the Dukes and her cousin right now, she was already more than tired enough from releasing her Arma earlier, and the stress of the diplomatic negotiations that followed. She just wanted a quiet room to sit and have a goblet of mildly spiced wine in for a few hours before she dealt with any more of the inevitable politics to come.

"This is normal behavior for your people?" Ukitake asked, to confirm, though he could sense from her posture and tone of voice that she was either confused or even bothered by his questions, as he might be if she were to confront him about an utterly unremarkable daily occurence of some sort.

"Yes, this is how we make camp every night when traveling. Is it not common sense to have a strongly fortified encampment to defend if you are attacked during the night? Especially with such a small unit as ours? Were even a moderate enemy force to happen across our camp, our only chance for victory would lie in the strength of our fortifications, yes? Pay them no mind, they will be done in a few hours. I apologize, but I'm feeling a little light headed. Could you show me to a place where I could sit down? It's been a long day already and I fear the night's rest will be elusive..." Lacus answered, adding an apologetic smile that felt like her lips were made of lead. She'd never had the strongest of constitutions, and her mind was aboil with all that she'd learned today. She needed to think it over in a relaxed environment for a while, get her head on straight, because her interactions with these people could very well be the most important things she ever accomplished in her extremely long existence, especially if she could eventually negotiate some sort of peace treaty or even a military alliance with these Shinigami. They plainly had troops to spare, and any assistance would be greatly appreciated in the lfiting of several seiges that had been running for several centuries now...

"Of course, my apologies, you must be very tired after such a long journey and then the meeting on top of it all." Ukitake smiled kindly and bowed them forward, thrusting the matter of the fortification work from his mind for the time being, though he would definitely bring it up to Sir Genryusai and the other Captains as soon as he was done helping the Princess settle in. He had a few other things to mull over as well, such as the Princess's comment on the "small" size of her several hundred strong contingent of escorts, a deployment of force larger than anything in Soul Society save a full on Divisional deployment, which hadn't happened in almost a millenium now! And though he tried not to consider it, he could not help but wonder at the actual strength of these people, if they needed to rely on such fortifications to defend themselves against attacks. Maybe they weren't as much of a threat as some had initially thought, if they needed to prepare their battlefields in order to emerge victorious. The sounds of Kiyone's protests from within the seperate officer's quarters building, shrill even to his long suffering ears, prompted him to quicken his pace to see what his well meaning but often troublesome joint 3rd seat was involved in now.

Upon investigating, the Princess still at his elbow, several attendants walking closely behind her with no apparent duty other than bundling up her enormous waterfall of crimson hair in order that she be allowed to move freely without tripping over it or stepping on it every other stride, Ukitake wasn't sure whether he should frown or hide a chuckle behind his sleeve. Kiyone was pursuing the large Duke who wore blue and red with the flamoyant black broad brimmed hat, which had even more brightly colored feathers stuck through the band, somewhat like 5th seat Aysegawa from the 11th, but even larger and more colorful, if that was possible, and on the hat, not the eyebrows obviously. The man was apparently making himself very much at home in the Vice Captain's quarters, Hinamori's old rooms, ordering lackies armored in more blue and crimson to deposit chests and coffers packed with clothing or other domestic items, as well as brightly colored pillows, sheets and thick fur blankets at random places around the room, while others worked at constructing the metal framework of some sort of folding bed of ridiculous size from a pile of disassembled parts.

However, the big Duke, Vladimo, Ukitake thought his name was, was inadvertantly causing a lot of damage to the room as he walked around and inspected things, obviously unfamiliar with how to open the sliding doors, he'd ripped most of them apart, and even walked right through a wall panel that didn't swing open like he'd thought it would. He didn't seem embarassed with his mistakes, if anything he seemed scornful for the flimsy construction of the chambers. Kiyone was trying to simultaneously chase him down, pull him back into the hall and scream him deaf with her outrage at his rough treatment of the officer's room, but given that Kiyone was not a big girl, even by Shinigami standards, and Vladimo was every bit as large as Kenpachi Zaraki, there wasn't much his 3rd seat could do to bring the man to heel. In fact, it was all she could do to avoid being trampled by the sneering, dark haired man as he tromped about, having seemingly tuned her very presence out of his perceptions, something Ukitake momentarily wished he was capable of doing. Finally though, Kiyone's stubborness seemed to get through to Vladimo, and he turned his blazing emerald eyes on the obstinate third seat, even as he called out something to Princess DeCirc, who replied shortly afterwards, her tone admonishing.

"What did he say?" Ukitake asked, noting the slight flush that crept onto the Princess's cheeks as she considered her reply.

"I shan't repeat the exact words, as they are both crude and mean spirited. But suffice it to say, Duke Morieth was wondering what the purpose of your young officer was exactly? She seems to be attached to "his" room, and he's willing to accept her as a fixture there, but only if she's going to be sharing his bed, otherwise he strongly desires that she leave him alone. I assume she has no amorous intentions towards him?"

"Ah." Ukitake flushed a little himself, suddenly wondering exactly what the Duke had said and whether or not he should be angry, rather than embarassed. "No, I don't believe Kiyone has any feelings of that sort for your Duke. She's just a bit overzealous in her pursuit of her duties is all. She can be quite the bully if you let her be." Ukitake smiled fondly for a moment, before ordering his third seat to leave the poor Duke alone, deciding to sit upon the translation of the Duke's comment in the interest of peace and quiet. He made a note to keep a closer eye on any attractive female subordinates in the future, in case this Duke decided to make other lewd propositions, regardless of his reasons. Most were used to such advances, especially coming from the 11th division or Captain Kyoraku, but it would be harder to take things in stride coming from a foreigner. Upon returning to the hallway, Ukitake frowned again. Huntmaster Grey and Duke Fane were outside, directing the establishment of the defensive fortifications, and Duke Morieth was just behind him... but where had the fourth officer, Duke Elkiran, disappeared to? Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen the man since before he'd escorted the Princess into the officer's quarters. How troublesomely stealthy... he hoped he wouldn't have another situation to defuse shortly...

xxxx

**Fith Division Headquarters, Main Divisional Barracks, second floor, same time**

Carefully reaching out, Mal opened the deceptively fragile wood and paper sliding wall panel that served most of these rooms as doorways and stepped into the nondescript bunkroom that served as living quarters for several Shinigami, or had before they all moved to the 10th Division area in the wake of the Winter War. Of course Mal had no idea about the reasons for why the 5th Division barracks was empty, but it was one of those things he was determined to figure out. However, as Princess DeCirc had already introduced him publicly as one of her advisos, he would be limited in what sort of snooping he could accomplish himself, and would often be forced to be in public view. Fortunately, the Duke of Shadows had a personal cadre of extremely reliable subordinates to pick up the slack, and it was them that he was currently meeting, while the rest of the Crusaders were busy setting up their accomodations in a fitting fashion for a lengthy stay. Regardless of what Kinkaid wanted, Mal knew that they would not soon be returning to the wilds and their nigh endless pursuit, not before the Princess managed to come to some sort of permanent accord with these Shinigami anyway.

Mal was pleased to be greeted with a room crowded with cowled figures in dark robes and cloaks, with blades and bludgeons menacing in their fists, even though the room's occupants knew full well who was opening the door, through both spirtual energy senses and regular scent, their olfactory sensitivity being significantly greater than human norm. As was only fitting, since not a one of them was a human norm in any way. It was only after he fully entered the room and slid shut the wall panel behind him that his agents relaxed, and then only slightly, serrated daggers and weighted saps disappearing back beneath the hems of their black and dark brown cloaks and mantles, and additional agents stepping up out of seemingly inadequate shadows, suddenly adding another five occupants to the already crowded room. Muttering under his breath, clasping both hands together, closing his eyes and bowing his head, Mal invoked a little known Prayer spell, Prayer 32, Mist of Secrets, which filled the room with barely tangible spirit energy that kept sound in and light out, making it almost impossible to eavesdrop upon those within its radius.

It was only when their privacy was assured that his minions respectfully drew back their hoods and dropped to one knee in front of him, their lord and master and savior all combined as one. The reasons for his concealing Prayer would be immediately obvious to anyone within the Prayer itself, as his agents differed signficantly from human norms not just in their powers and sensitivities, but also their very appearance. Which was only logical, since they weren't really humans at all, but a related sub-species known in the Imperium as "Fey-Bloods", or more commonly just "Fey" or "Goat-Men" when the speaker was being derogatory, which was most common. At some point in the impossibly ancient past, the Fey-Blood had a powerful Daemon of some sort in their ancestry, and though they were undeniably Plus type souls, they embodied the very darkest characteristics of such Souls, inheriting forms that most people regarded with fear, supestitious dread and digusted hatred.

Fey were roughly as large as humans, with skin tones that ran the gamut from brown to alabaster, their bodies almost entirely hairless save for their heads, which always had thick manes of oddly stiff and wiry hair, often in fantastic colors such as bright green, blue, red, orange or even white, often two or three seperate colors per head, this hair often stuck up at wild angles or in exotic and very distinctive patterns, and was usually worn long, the longer and more exotic the better and more socially adept a Fey was acknowledged as being, at least among their own culture. Of course, those who opted to take service with the Duke of Shadows had to make certain sacrifices, including short hair and severe, even boring, hairstyles, but it was a small price for most Fey to pay in order to repay their racial debt to the much storied Duke Elkiran.

Because Fey had more than just wild hair on their heads, they were all born with horns that grew out of their skull at some point, anywhere between one and seven horns were common and sometimes more, that appeared in all different shapes and sizes and forms, from simple knobby goat horns to bull horns to deerlike antlers to curled ram's horns and spiraling antelope horns, usually between four and ten inches long and often richly colored in matching shades to the Fey's reigning hair colors. Additional unsettling characteristics included clawlike fingernail talons on their hands, mouthfuls of fangs or other non-human teeth, and disturbingly shaped and vibrantly colored eyes, with pupils that were like hourglasses, hexagons, stars, crosses, squares or even odder shapes, which glowed slightly in the dark and allowed the Fey to see perfectly regardless of ambient illumination. Indeed, they were known as hideous monsters by most of the Imperium's population, dread harbingers of sickness, blight and moral decay, known for cursing good people and corrupting the youth of the land with their hedonistic ways.

This was largely superstition and hearsay of course, as most Fey preferred to keep to themselves in their own hidden communities deep in the wildest spaces of the Realm, and most ugly incidents involving Fey and Imperial citizens occured because of the citizens provoking the Fey in their fear, often mistaking the Fey for a real Daemon, despite the obvious lack of a Daemon Brand or Sigil upon their bodies. And while the Fey were a hedonistic race much given to pleasures that an Imperial citizen might consider debauched and degenerate, they hardly had much interest in the youth of another race entirely, as lacking horns, wild hair and other Fey characteristics, most humans were dreadfully unattractive to Fey in any physical sense. But the Fey were few and the Imperial citizens many, and much prone to banding together in witch hunts and pogroms to "cleanse the blighted monsters from our lands". And when certain intolerant Crusaders happened to get involved, well, not even the Fey's unique brand of magic spells had been entirely enough to prevent them from being hunted like they were plagued rats, and in a matter of a decade, the entire race was very nearly wiped from existence.

The only reason they hadn't been was because of Duke Elkiran's direct intervention on their behalf. As Duke of Shadows, it was Mal's duty to police the underbelly of his beloved Realm as well as deal with the shadier sort of operations against the Daemon hordes, and in pursuit of his duties he was given near total freedom of resources by the Rex Divinia. Though no more tolerant of the unclean and perverse, much less Daemon-blooded mongrels, than any of his peers, Mal had learned to selectively channel his intolerance for the good of the entire Imperium. Exterminating the Fey would be emotionally satisfying and a great victory for public order, but it would also be a terrible waste of a potentially extremely valuable resource. As they were partially Daemonic themselves, the Fey could provide much insight into their distant kin, and their unique magic spells and other abilities were simply too useful for Mal's duties to be casually thrown away in the name of racial purity. So he had extended his remit of Royal ordained resources around their race, and in becoming the savior of their race had secured the total loyalty of the remaining Fey for as long as he might live, an oath sworn in blood.

With proper training and discipline, the Fey were spies and assassins par excellence, at home in the deepest dark of night as they were at brightest noon, possessed of noses and ears ten times as keen as most humans and with a naturally occuring affinity for spiritual powers, especially their unique brand of Magic, known as Curses, that drew not upon the power of the Rex Divinia but upon the latent and subtle energies of the world itself, especially the darker types of energy. Whereas Castigations were directly offensive or in some way bound or immobilized their targets, and Prayers were defensive and healing in nature, Curses utilized indirect offense, debilitating foes with a variety of conditions that were not usually themselves fatal, but which caused pain and discomfort and even blindness or paraylsis or other conditions that affected a target's ability to fight and defend themselves effectively. Tutored in these Magics by the Fey elders, Mal had acquired yet another ace in the hole unavailable to his more puritanical peers.

And with the Fey being unquestioningly loyal to him and him alone, to the death and beyond if need be, since it was by his protection that their race continued to exist and for no other reason, he had a cadre of bodyguards and agents that he could trust with the most sensitive of tasks. If anything unfortunate were to happen to him, well, the Fey race wouldn't live too many months past the day he was put in the ground, and they all knew this. Of course, Mal did his best not to overtly abuse his absolute power over his chosen minions, because everyone worked more efficiently when there was a degree of mutual respect involved, and though he was usually happy to be feared instead of being loved, he would prefer those he trusted his life with to be more in love with him than afraid of him. Mal was far from a perfect man though, and near the opposite of a saint, and he had something of an unhealthy addiction to female Fey warming his bed whenever the mood happened to strike, finding them to be both incredibly virile lovers as well as totally submissive, without any real need for commitment on either side. After all, they were ALL bound to him for as long as he lived, inextricably... they might as well be married to him, in fact they were closer than that, as their lives were his to spend in whatever way he saw fit.

At the moment though, spending lives wasn't in the cards, because they had to tread very carefully for the time being. They were all strangers in a strange land, and the slightest misstep could be the death of them all. The Crusaders, the Princess and most importantly, Mal himself, needed more information on these Shinigami, the Sereitei and the Soul Society as a whole, and the sort of information they needed most was exactly the sort of information that no one would willingly share with strangers... communication protocols, logistical plans, locations of supply stashes and weapon depots, troop numbers and dispositions, lists of powerful individuals and key officers, weaknesses of defensive fortifications, locations of political leaders... many, many things vital to the defence and administration of a Realm. And things that the Crusaders, if theyw ere to know them, might be able to use as leverage, both political and military, to manipulate events to their best benefit. Not exactly honorable, in fact it was clearly the opposite, and their actions were a clear provocation to their generous hosts should they ever be found, but then again, this was exactly what Mal Elkiran, Duke of Shadows, lived to do! This was his purpose in life.

Of course he would entrust some of these investigations, the most minor and least sensitive, to other members of the Shadow Squadron, with the expectation that they would in turn likely be found and watched by whatever resident intelligence agency these Shinigami had, who would then hopefully be content and think they had tabs on all his spies, when in reality they were only watching his least talented agents, while the real spies operated unnoticed. And in plain view for that matter, as the Fey had another racial talent that he often found most useful for this sort of highly sensitive work. But first... **"You may report."** Mal ordered, his face a mask of professional neutrality.

**"Ayi, melorrd."** One of the Fey, Dain Lebora, the leader of his elite cadre and prbably the closest Mal had to an actual second in command, spoke up, his words slurred and a bit mutilated by his only part human vocal configuration, his tongue forked like an adder's, his mouth filled with literally hundreds of needle-like hypodermic fangs well suited for piercing skin and sucking out the fluids beneath, rather than chewing. Dain's main form of sustenance was in fact blood and other vital fluids, much like a spider or a vampire bat, and this form of nutritional intake was actually fairly common amongst Fey, as their race was one of the originating archtypes for the "Vampires" of myth and legend. Dain had carefully trimmed hair of crimson and raven black, seemingly slicked back with a heavy application of oil though it was just how his hair naturally grew, with a six inch long, dull reddish curved horn protruding from just above either temple, like those of a Grecian Satyr. His skin tone was slightly darker than Mal's own light tan, and his eyes were dark blue orbs with vivid yellow pupils shaped like hourglasses.

**"Thiy watched us closily, but not closily inough. Wi ded not go farr, as wi weshid to waet forr yourr orrdirrs, melorrd."** Dain explained, rolling and extending his "R's" while swapping pronounciation of "e" and "i". This was not a disfigurement of Dain's, in fact, he spoke better "human" than most of his race, but it definitely took some getting used to. And Mal saw now reason to correct his underling's speech patterns, as if even he had to work to decipher what they were saying sometimes, it made it much less likely that any eavesdroppers or spies would be able to decipher their communications either.

**"Thierr sinsis arri dull and lemeted. Thiy sii, but thiy do not undirrstand what et es that thiy sii."** A second Fey added scornfully, her skin pale, accentuated by her white, blue streaked hair, purplish goat-like horns and eyes of black with orange star pupils. Her name was Flaya Vex, and she was Dain's mate and partner. She had a tongue just like a human's, except that it could extend to over two feet long and was prehensile like a tentacle, with fine dexterity and a strong grip. And she knew how to use it too, both in pursuit of her duties and... other ways. Mal did his best not to think of those other ways, as his time with Flaya had been over long ago... he wasn't so addicted to the Fey that he would chance ill feelings by sampling from a mated pair, and he genuinely liked Dain besides, he was as close to a friend as he had, other than Vladimo. **"Thes well bi an iasy job, mithenks, melorrd."**

**"Perhaps so, but that is no reason to slack off. I hope I don't need to stress how important your duties will be. You will be my eyes and ears and fingers, and, if need be, my knives and nooses too. Never forget that Vandire is still in the area somewhere, and that a cornered rat will even take on the biggest cat. You cannot afford to be caught, alive or dead, and if you are, you could very well provoke a war between the Imperium and these new "Death Gods". We are operating in the heart of unknown and potentially hostile territory, and we have no time to learn the lay of the land."** Mal instructed them, leading up to the really distasteful order. Well, distasteful for them, he couldn't care less, as it was a necessary precaution.

**"Wi arri yourr's, melorrd."** Dain buzzed, followed by a surrusation of agreement from the other Fey. **"Command us to spy orr slay, et makes no deffirrinci to us. Wi arri thi Fiy, and thes wi sworri."**

**"Glad you feel that way."** Mal said, with a shark toothed grin, opening his coat and withdrawing several items hanging from loops along the interior sides, which he then dropped to the floor with a muffled clatter. They were collars, collars with bells, and at the sight of them several of the Fey made barely audible groans of complaint and disgust. Dain whirled upon his compatriots, displeasure stamped across his face and flaring in his eyes as he put one hand on the grip of his Arma Sancti, a throwing dagger named Umbra Scalprum, sheathed in its bandoleer running across the front of his chest.

**"Selinci, you engrrati's! Thes es ourr chosin duty, es et not? Wi sworri to sacrrefeci all forr Lorrd Ilkeran, ivin prredi, ivin degnety, ivin ourr virry soul-sparrks! Do not lit mi hiar such muttirrings frrom any of you agaen! Wi arri farr, farr frrom homi, yis, but destanci dois not lissin ourr vow, et should only strringthin et!"** Dain chided his fellows harshly, waiting until he was met with serried ranks of unblinking, slightly glowing eyes before finally turning around and bending down to pick up a collar. There was distaste in his own eyes as he laced the collar around his throat, jangling bell ringing sullenly, but no hesitation, and soon his example was followed by the others, until they all wore the belled collars around their necks. They then began divesting themselves of their other clothing, even their Arma Sancti, which they bundled up in neat, unobtrusive piles, which they then hide in the walls and ceiling and floor of the room, stashing them for later retrieval. They stood unselfconsciously naked, Fey culture not being one with overmuch reliance on clothing in the first place.

And then they began to leap out the window, one at a time. But even as they leaped, their bodies began to shift, to flow, to morph, and it wasn't a horned and befanged naked humanoid which hit the ground lightly outside, but instead a goat, with a wiry, shaggy pelt of the same basic color of the Fey's hair, and horns to match. In a matter of seconds, there was a herd of almost a dozen exotically colored goats milling around in high ill humor outside the barracks building, clattering bells around their necks announcing every step they made. This self polymorphing ability was the real root of the derogatory nickname of "Goat-Men" that they Fey were labeled with by their detractors, and though this beast form was a natural and normal part of being a Fey, none of them particularly enjoyed or liked transforming, even though they retained almost all of the abilities of their humanoid form when a goat. Too many Fey had been killed and eaten by unsuspecting serfs while in goat form for them to ever feel entirely safe, and the full coat of smelly fur was an offense to most Fey's aesthetic sensibilities. Fey liked masquerading as goats as much as humans might like transforming into baboons, assuming they could do so, except even baboons had more inherent dignity than a goat!

Walking out to meet his "flock" a few moments later, Mal lengthened Mercurius, his Arma, from a truncheon sized rod hanging at his belt into a full size shepard's staff, the gleaming, silvery metal glinting in the cool afternoon sunlight. Needing no prompting from their master, the Fey-goats allowed themselves to be herded back towards the center of the 5th Division Headquarters complex, drawing strange looks from several Crusader work parties, though they took care to stare only discreetly, as none wanted to attract the attention, much less the ire, of the very Duke of Shadows! It was well known that Duke Elkiran had many strange habits and hobbies, and if he wanted to herd around a bunch of mangy looking goats, well, nobody was going to look twice. They'd all seen him do weirder things, things no one wanted to even remember, much less talk about!

Meeting up with the Shinigami Captain with the long white hair, the infirm one with some sort of lung disease, as well as the mustachioed translater Vice-Captain, who had apparently dropped the Princess and her retinue off to make themselves at home in the officer's quarters, Mal grimaced at their increduluous looks. Not because he was afraid of looking strange or eccentric, but because in order to develop this plan he was going to have to reveal that he spoke and understood at least some of the English language that Princess DeCirc and the translator had been using, which was a trump card he would have normally wished to hang onto a bit longer. It was always better to have those you were listening to think you couldn't understand them, you could find out SO much that way. Well, it was a relatively small sacrifice in the scheme of things, and the potential rewards would far outweigh the sacrifice. "Excuse me, Captain." Mal hailed them, and gestured to his herd of Fey-goats. "Might you have some place where I could shelter my herd? These are very special animals, used for our most important religious ceremonies, and I need a safe place to store them now that we will be staying for a while."

Ukitake was a bit nonplussed at the request, though perhaps that was because he was still adjusting to the vista at hand, the black coated man with his silvery staff and his herd of goats with fur of white and blue, or black and red, or orange and green or even wilder combinations. He'd never seen any animals like them in all his life! But then again, before this morning, he'd never seen any Crusaders either, so who was he to say what animals might be like in their Realm? Many Crusaders had already expressed great shock at seeing Hell Butterflies, so it was plain there were some animals that existed only in Soul Society, why not vice versa? In any case, the Captain-General had told him to be as accomodating as he saw fit, and the last thing Ukitake wanted to do was somehow interfere in these people's religious ceremonies or rights, as that was a surefire way to provoke intense bad feelings. "Um, yes, I think we can find quarters for them. Do they have any special requirements or needs, sir?"

"They're wiley bastards, cunning to the bone, so not just any animal paddock will do. As you can probably tell, they possess an unusual amount of spiritual energy, which is why their coloration is so odd. These are special goats bred specifically for the use of the Royal Family in our most important rituals and ceremonies of consecration. You might even call them holy goats. They are objects of reverence, and though they are well capable of fending for themselves, they are still just goats. Truth be told, the best way to take care of them is to just let them wander... they will self feed and they are not messy, but since we can't really trust you people not to kill and eat them... which would be a HUGE sacrilege and nobody wants that kind of travesty... I guess we'll have to lock them up somewhere. Pity, they have a tendency to sicken when cooped up for long periods of time..." Mal answered with a dolorous expression on his face, probably overacting a bit, but there was a cultural barrier to overcome, so it probably went unnoticed. On cue, Dain and Flaya attempted to break away from the herd, moving with blurry speed, and only a quick shift-step from Mal put him between them and the open gates leading out into the rest of the Sereitei.

Ukitake watched the black coated Duke manhandle the two rebellious goats back into line, really having to struggle to do it without harming the creatures. Ukitake was still blinking a bit, as those goats had very nearly shunpo'd away, and he'd been definitely caught off guard by the sudden burst of movement. Special goats indeed, and obviously not the sort you could just fence in. Locking them up in a barn or storage shed would probably do the trick, but if the goats got sick and gods forbid, died, then it could not help but sour relations between the Crusaders and Shinigami. On the other hand, Duke Elkiran made a good point, that if they were left to wander, the goats might be preyed upon, especially by the 11th Division or, gods forbid, the 12th, and that was an international incident waiting to happen! Well, perhaps if the Captain-General was to make a special announcement regarding them...

xxxx

**5th Division Compound, Main Courtyard, Northern Observation Tower, an hour later**

The troops were making good progress, Alyster assessed with a critical eye, and at their current rate of accomplishment, the baseline defensive fortifications would be done well before dusk, even though they were securing a much larger area than they usually did. There was nothing they could do about the stone fence... he wouldn't dignify such a feeble construction with the term "wall"... that the Shinigami had constructed bordering this compound, but should a foe breach that fragile barrier, they would find themselves staring at a much more daunting problem. The defenses started, as did all good fortresses, with a ditch or trench, ten foot wide and deep, not so wide that a Daemon or other supernaturally powered foe could not cross it in a single bound, but with a ten foot dirt wall and five foot wooden palisade rising from the far side of the trench, it would have to be more than just a common Daemon hordeling, and that was what the soldiers patrolling the walltop were for. The trench, filled with holy water or sharpened holy stakes, with more stakes in the dirt wall and palisade, was just a deterrent, meant to slow, not stop an assault.

While attackers were navigating the defensive works, they would be under constant fire from magic strong Crusaders and those whose Arma Sancti took the form of ranged weapons, most commonly the crossbow, famed for its range, accuracy and hitting power, if not its fire rate. Better one good shot than three mediocre ones, was the standing philosophy. Larger weapons, bolt hurling ballistae and stone or greek firing hurling onager-catapults, were currently being constructed from the remains of what outbuildings hadn't already been torn down and their materials repurposed for reinforcing the gates or constructing watchtowers like the one that Alyster now stood upon. These heavy anti-infantry weapons would provide greater long range punch and area of effect attacks, especially against large and slow moving foes. Pots of blessed oil were being boiled and set up along the palisade and in each watch tower, ready to be dumped upon the heads of any attackers.

Meanwhile, ordained Warpriests and sanctified Abbots were doing their best to purify and consecrate the grounds within the fortifications, as well as the fortifications themselves, with the blessings of the Rex Divinia, which would make any Daemons who happened to get within the fortifications uncomfortable and lethargic, while at the same time bolstering the resolve of the faithful and lending extra strength to their Ornatus Sancti to preserve them from harm. Bundles of bolts and throwing spears were infused with low level Castigation powers, allowing them to explode in bursts of holy fire or ice or lightning when thrown or shot, and covered aid stations were set up for the healers to shelter in while tending to the injured, within easy sprinting distance of the walls. The smell of incense, mhyrr and other meditative spices was strong on the wind, as was the taste of light censure smoke mixing in with the heavier flavors of the cookfires that were beginning to be lit to cook the evening meal, several deer-like creatures having been provided by their hosts, which was a nice gesture, as it had been a while since they had last had time to eat anything but dried meats and travel rations.

After fifteen years of making such camps almost every day, the troops needed little in the way of direction from their officers to do this sort of work, and Alyster spent more time observing that he did supervising. That was just fine by him though, as he had a lot to think about anyway. His pride still smarted from the beating it had taken today, mostly at the hands of his beloved Princess, but Alyster could not find it in him to resent her for her actions. Upon reflection, he realized that he had been acting quite boorishly, and that she had been right to chastise him. Regardless of their personal relationship, it was not his place to preserve her honor, if anyone were to need to make such a protest, it should rightly be Kinkaid, as he was her kinsman, albeit a distant one. They were strangers in a strange land, as Mal had said... flexibility and a generous attitude would serve them better than prideful bluster and a hair trigger temper.

It was hard for him though, hard for him to scale back his testy attitude, hard for him to remember to take a deep breath and not spit out the first impulsive thing that came to mind. He was yet young, barely out of childhood by Imperial standards, and it still showed, despite his best efforts to compose himself. It didn't help that he held the position and responsibilities of a man three times his age, and had to struggle every day to prove his worthiness not only to his own detractors, but his own troops and himself as well. The Duke of Order was a prestigious position, even amongst the Sanctus Dominus ranks, as it was the traditional position for dispensing justice, not just in warfare, but also to the Imperial citizens, serfs and Crusaders both. It was a huge responsibility, and impulsiveness was a luxury he could not afford to indulge in when interpeting and enforcing the law!

Of course he was blessed with more than enough personal power to justify his appointment to such an exalted rank, but in truth, Alyster was not fully comfortable with his power. He felt like he'd acquired it too quickly, if that was a thing. Here he was, at an age where most Crusaders were still standing boring sentry duty on walltops and digging defensive trenches more than any actual fighting, and he was responsible for the lives of more than 25000 Crusaders of both sexes and a huge variety of skillsets and power levels! Or at least he had been, before he'd selected a hundred of his best troops and taken on this mission to find and render justice unto Vandire. Lacus had told him that the reason he had such strong powers at his age was because he had a particularly strong resonance with his past lives, which wasn't something he understood at all, but was prepared to take her word for it.

People often asked him, with varying degrees of condescension, whether it bothered him that the woman he loved was not only about as far above his social class as it was possible to get, but also about ten times his age, and far more experienced in basically every worldly matter other than phsyical combat than he. Wasn't it intimidating, even unmanning, to be in the presence of such an ancient and powerful being, especially at such a young and untested age, they wanted to know, the ill hidden light of envy flickering in the depths of their eyes. What was so special about him, Alyster Fane, anyway? Well, it didn't bother him, any more than he expected a regular Crusader would be bothered that he himself had more fighting power than them, and both he and Lacus despised the very idea of social class determining whom you fell in love with.

His Princess could be extremely intimidating, to the point of unmanning much stronger men than he, so that was nothing to be ashamed of. She was a Royal after all. But while he might be intimidated, he was never SCARED of her, which is what those people asking meant. His Princess was the gentlest, kindest, sweetest person in all existence whenever she had the chance to be, it was only when life circumstances intruded upon her natural disposition that Lacus brought out the Princess DeCirc side of her, which had been much in evidence throughout the day. And though he knew most people wouldn't ever be able to understand what he meant, he knew that it was his very youthfulness and the limitedness of his existence that his Princess so loved. She found him endlessly refreshing and vital, someone who lived in a world of black and white, definite right and wholly wrong, rather than the shades of subtle grey that she was forced to live in because of her bloodline. As for him, well, he couldn't define it very well, but he just felt like he BELONGED when he was with her, and that was a feeling that he wouldn't trade even for his own soul!

Propping his shield up on the balistrade of the watchtower, Alyster set his helmet aside for the time being as his hand stroked the hilt of his Arma Sancti. **"Judge the guilty, Onere della Guistazia."** Alyster commanded softly, gently activating his Ascension powers, building up and releasing the power softly, so as not to overtly alert or alarm his compatriots. His Ascension granted him several useful powers, including increased speed, strength and stamina, but it was his shield's power that he valued most and used most often. That power was the ability to look through the back of the shield like it was a one way mirror, but when he viewed people or creatures through the lens of his shield, he saw them not as they physically were but how they morally were. In short, someone who was selfish and abusive and evil would show up as a twisted, black auraed reflection of themselves, while someone who was noble and trustworthy and good shone with a divine halo. It was both a simple power and a frighteningly powerful one, giving him the ability to see the "flavor" of a person's soul, something that was normally completely private to them and them alone.

There was the added caveat that the shield used his own moral compass and definitions of right, wrong, justice, injustice, good and evil in order to make this determination, but Alyster trusted in the purity of his own faith, as exemplified by his noble love for his Princess. He could not view his own soul through the shield, but as long as his Princess continued to love and cherish him for his actions and deeds, how could he doubt her judgement as to his qualities? Alyster peered through his shield, sweeping his esoteric gaze through the ranks of the working Crusaders, as he did at least once a day, just to make sure Vandire didn't try and slip another infiltrator into the camp to cause havoc. Anyone that followed the traitor was sure to appear warped and defiled by their deeds and choices, but today he detected no more than the usual smattering of petty guilts and selfishness, reprehensible perhaps, but not unexpected amongst opinionated and stressed out people like the Crusaders. As usual, his view was blurred somewhat while looking at Kinkaid, though whether this was some secret known to the Royal bloodline or a function of Kinkaid's steel strong devotion to whatever his own ideals were, Alyster could not say.

Neither Vladimo nor Mal was currently within his view, and truth be told, Alyster was glad of that. Ever since the assassination attempt on the Rex Divinia, when the Duke of Battle and Duke of Shadows had selflessly thrown themselves between their lord and the treacherous Duke of Vengeance, taking the brunt of the corrupting attack meant for their lord, they had both been changed men. Darkness had taken root in their souls, and neither of them had exactly been pure and good in Alyster's estimation in the first place! Vladimo was addicted to combat and was a shameless womanizer and a boorish drunk, while Mal openly consorted with dark spirits, treated his subordinates with near tyranny and worked with criminal elements in the pursuit of his duties! But the true evil of the First Daemon, dread Asmodeus, was now clawing at their souls, threatening to turn them forevermore into Asmodians... half Crusader-half Daemon monstrosities constantly at war with themselves. An inner war, that should it ever be lost, would certainly result in them fully becoming Daemons and extremely powerful ones at that, a major threat to the entire Imperium Animi!

With his shield, Alyster could see just how much of a hold each Duke's newly released Inner Daemon had upon them, could track how close they were to losing control and falling into irredeemable evil. But just because he could do so, didn't mean he enjoyed doing so. What was happening to his elder Dukes was not fair, not after the selflessness and nobility they had both displayed in shielding the Rex Divinia with their own bodies! There was no telling the scale of the catastrophe that would have been if the Rex Divinia himself had been infected with a released Inner Daemon! It could have spelled the end of the entire Imperium! They had made the ultimate choice of the Crusader, to defend others at the cost to their own lives, and if things kept on as they were, their only reward would be an ignominous and likely secret execution and disposal, for the sake of the Imperium. And it was going to be up to Alyster to make the call as to when they had fallen to the point of irrecoverability, he was the one who would sign their death warrents, and it might even be he that was required to perform the execution itself. Such were the duties of the Duke of Order. Such was the burden of his position.

Moral inspection complete, Alyster resealed his Arma Sancti and began clambering down out of the watchtower. He would go and report on the progress of the defensive works, as well as the moral state of the troops, to his Princess. And then he would apologize for his crass and childish behavior during the earlier part of the day. Perhaps they would even "kiss and make up", as the modern saying went. His heart beat a little faster at the thought. But he forced himself to calm down and think of the Princess's needs over those of his hormones. She would no doubt be tired and drained, she always was after releasing Regina della Tranquillo, even for a short time, and the added stress of stepping in to cover for his own diplomatic inadequacies would not have helped any. He would offer her whatever support he could, even if it was to just sit by her side and tell her a funny story or sing her a song. Or just sit in silence together. That was the mark of a true love, Lacus had told him once. The ability to just "be" together without needing a topic of conversation. Well, there was no love truer than his, not in all the Imperium... and he was glad to devote the rest of whatever life he might have to proving that to everyone!


	7. Your Garden, My Pasture

Author Note: Well, this is an attempt at a more lighthearted chapter. Hope you enjoy. I'm going to do a fighting chapter next time.

xxxx

**Living World, Karakura Town, Kurosaki Clinic, January 13th, 8:45 pm**

"Hmm, that's odd..." Rukia mumbled, half to herself, though any time she said something out loud, it was with the expectation that Ichigo would overhear and either respond or at least become more attentive to her. This time was no exception, though it was less an attentive glance and more an irritated one that he sent her way, from where he was seated at the desk in his room, studying up for the end of the week tests. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, or even by watching him around his friends, but Ichigo was an ace student only a little bit behind Uryu, and that mostly because unlike Uryu, he didn't have a horribly repressive father ready to flay him alive with cutting remarks should he fail to be anything but the absolute best at everything he did, except the stuff he actually wanted to be good at. Certainly, Ichigo's grades were head and shoulders better than Rukia's own, but then again, it wasn't like she was really putting an effort into it, except for the few classes she liked. School was just a cover story anyway, no need to stand out by excelling, as long as she wasn't failing.

"I said, hmm, that's ODD..." Rukia prompted again, when her boyfriend left off glaring at her and turned back to his schoolwork. She was proud of her restraint... not so long ago, she would have thrown something heavy at the back of his head for such a lapse in attention. Or worse, she'd have chucked Kon. Though the lion plushie that Kon wore as his normal body these days wasn't currently around, Yuzu seemed to have kidnapped "Bostov" again. Rukia almost felt sorry for the Mod Soul, but upon remembering all the crap Kon put the rest of them through, especially his perverted focus on her, pity died like a flower in a furnace. She hoped Yuzu stitched him up with another magical sailor scout uniform again.

Ichigo put his pencil down, perhaps a trifle harder than absolutely necessary, as he took a single deep breath to control his first impulsive reply... he was damned proud of his restraint, as not so long ago, he would have just blurted the first thing that came to mind out, and probably would have ended up with Rukia's footprint stamped into his face for his trouble. He loved her so much... god, did he ever... but holy shit, she could be ANNOYING sometimes! He knew she didn't care about her schoolwork, but since he wasn't a semi-immortal Soul, but rather a regular... well, no... but he was still a human being! A mortal, who lived in a world where surviving entailed more academic leaning than it did any amount of sword or spiritual energy aptitude! He needed to get this school nonsense right, so that he could eventually get into a good, respected college, and then he needed to excel there so he could find a cushy job by which to support himself... and Rukia too. He still wasn't exactly sure what it was that he wanted to do... despite growing up in a Clinic, or perhaps because of it, he had NO desire to be a doctor or medical professional of any sort, but he'd think of something!

Fortunately, as a byproduct of all the extreme training he had done on the Shinigami side of things, Ichigo knew that as long as he was willing to put his mind to something, in the interest of a good cause, there was pretty much nothing he couldn't do, and do well. The trick would be finding a job where frequently being out of his body on Shinigami business wouldn't cause undue trouble. Kon could cover for him sometimes, but he was very leery about leaving the Mod Soul in control of his body for any length of time unless absolutely necessary. The perverted bastard just got in too much trouble... he totally didn't need to come back from fighting a bunch of Hollows to find his ass in jail for sexual harassment or something. But getting back to matters at hand, Ichigo slowly turned a gimlet eyed gaze on Rukia, where she sat cross legged on his bed. He thought about mentioning that sitting in such a manner was unwise while wearing her grey school skirt, as he could totally see up it, but then again, why ruin a perfectly good peek? He wasn't such a goody two shoes that he couldn't indulge in a little bit of lechery now and then, in regards to his own girlfriend...

"What's odd? I'm kinda busy here, ya know?" Ichigo asked, trying to be brusque, but his ire had been derailed by that little lewd glance, and now that he was distracted from his schoolwork, he found himself unable to get back to it. Not, at least, until he had some fun with Rukia. Even the thought that Yuzu and his lunatic of a Father would no doubt be spying on them somehow was enough to deter his line of thought. Not anymore. If his little sister and dad were that fucking curious about his love life, then they could get an eyeful they'd never forget. That would at least get Yuzu to back off, though Karin would probably kick his ass later for "corrupting" Yuzu's sweet mind. Yeah, uh huh, like he'd never seen Jinta and Yuzu trading a cautious glance now and then... his sister was old enough that boys weren't necessarily icky anymore. Though that reminded him to make sure and lay down the law with that brash little punk... he'd seen how he got along with Ururu, and if he thought that kind of behavior was gonna fly with Yuzu, then Ichigo had a Getsuga Tensho with his name on it that he'd never forget!

"Nii-Sama hasn't replied to my daily report yet. He's never been late before..." Rukia pulled out her Spirit Phone, which connected with a similar communicator back in the Sereitei, by which she kept in constant contact with her superiors, both her brother and Captain Ukitake.

"So Byakuya's finally too freaking busy to be snooping around watching our every move and you're complaining about it? You MUST be psychotic... you sure you're not actually in the 11th and some kind of masochist?" Ichigo replied with a snort and a shake of his head. He was asking for it, he knew that, but then again, most times when they were alone together, Rukia him with something was just the prelude to much more enjoyable.

"Shut up." Rukia answered, knowing it was a lame retort, but she still wasn't very good at joking about anything regarding her adopted brother. It pained her that he and Ichigo were still so antagonistic towards each other, though given how they'd first met, during her execution fiasco, she didn't suppose she could have hoped for much better than mutual antagonism. They were about as different as it was possible for two men to be, and the only thing they seemed to have in common was their attachment to her, and even that was a point of contention between them. Ichigo still hadn't forgiven her brother for not stepping in to defend her when she was slated to be executed, a betrayal of everything the term "brother" meant in Ichigo's eyes, and though Nii-Sama was acting a lot more "brotherly" in recent times, that bad first impression was still like an invisible wall between them. Of course, it hadn't helped that Nii-Sama had blatantly refused to explain his internal conflict regarding his promise to Hisana-sama and his promise to his deceased parents to Ichigo, but that was Nii-Sama for you. He hated admitting that he wasn't sure of his actions, for he saw that as weakness that he could not afford.

"I'm serious though." Ichigo added, turing around to sit backwards in his chair so he could look at her without craning his head. "Cut him a little slack. There's a hundred different reasons why he might not be able to reply today. It's nothing to freak out about. He's freaking Byakuya Kuchiki, right? Even I couldn't fully beat him, remember. I'm sure he's fine."

"Heh, yeah, you're right, I'm being a little stupid." Rukia acknowledged, her bangs falling forward across her eyes as she bowed her head in self admonishment. "He's a Captain after all, I could hardly expect him to be waiting on tenterhooks for my every communication."

"Now you're going too far the other way." Ichigo corrected her with a snort. "He might be a Captain, but he's also your older brother, and I can garauntee you that if he wasn't involved in something extremely important, you'd never have to wait on his replies. I bet he keeps that phone with him even when he goes to take a shit. I don't like him, and he's got a long way to go before I ever do, but he does care for you, I can't deny that."

"Eww, I so didn't need that image." Rukia wrinkled her nose at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes thankfully, glad that Ichigo wouldn't let her stew in her self recriminations.

"He'd walk through Hell itself for you. Admittedly, not as quickly as I would, since he'd have to find some excuse to look cool and aloof beforehand, but he'd be there eventually..." Ichigo smirked at the thought.

"Yeah, like you've never indulged in a little grandstanding when you come to save the day at the eleventh hour. Honestly, I don't know what it is about male Shinigami and their compulsive need to show up in the very nick of time with a huge pyrotechnic light show. Are you ALL that insecure about your power? You never see Matsumoto do that... or Hinamori... or Captain Soi Fon... or especially me!" Rukia teased him.

"Uh huh, and the reason for that is?" Ichigo's smirk grew. "Because you're always the helpless damsel in distress. Of couse you can't look cool like we do, its not part of your job description."

"Oh... Really...?" Rukia retorted, her eyes flat, one eyebrow twitching in time with her finger muscles as she obviously considered strangling him then and there. "And what IS my job description then?"

"You're the one that's supposed to get all teary eyed and clingy while I carry you off into the sunset for some sweet, sweet love..."

"I'll show you teary eyed, you chauvanistic bastard! Come're, I'm gonna make you cry like a baby before I'm done with you!"

"If that's what turns you on, Rukia...OWWW! MY FUCKING EAR! YOU HIT ME IN THE EAR, DAMN IT!"

"Good. Maybe if it swells up a few sizes, you'll actually have enough surface area to hear what I'm saying before I decide to kick your carrot-topped ass..."

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, 5th Division Compound, Officer's Quarters Garden, January 14th, 8:25 am**

"I must compliment you, Captain Ukitake, on the beauty and serenity of your city. It has been many, many years since I last felt so completely at peace. This garden is simply delightful." Lacus commented, in Japanese, as she sat on the low wooden porch that edged almost all of the buildings she'd seen so far, protected from the chill wood by a thin but durable and comfortable cushion as she looked out in the immaculate garden aea, with its lovingly tended trees, pond, flower beds and rock gardens. The aura of the place was deeply meditative and comforting, and it took real effort to open her eyes again to glance aside at her companion. He was a regal sort himself, especially with his striking pale hair, worn long like a woman, but then again, she had seen many of the men here wearing their hair in what would inarguably be considered a feminine style back home. He was also unfailingly polite, kind hearted and considerate, and Lacus found herself quite liking the man.

She suspected that this was the whole point of why he'd been assigned as her liason, his ability to put others at ease was extraordinary, and she felt like she could chat with him for hours about nothing in particular and still be perfectly entertained. He presented as a younger man, or at least young at heart, though Lacus wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he was as much as half her temporal age, and a good twice her physical age. His aura of noble frality, accentuated by his frequent coughing fits, even further helped a suspicious and wary person feel at ease with him, as it was obvious that he was not in the best of health and thus less of a physical threat, at least on the surface. Yes, he played these games well, Captain Ukitake did, and Lacus found herself unexpectedly enjoying their verbal sparring as they both tried to probe the other for extra information.

"Please, if its just the two of us, you should call me Joushiro, Princess. That is what my friends call me, and I would very much like for us to be friends." Ukitake replied, speaking english, if not quite as fluently as Vice-Captain Sasukabe did, still well enough to communicate with those Crusaders that spoke and understood it. It had been a long night of cram-learning, faintly reminiscent of long ago times when he and Shunsui had studied for tests at the last moment at Genryusai-sama's freshly established Shinigami Academy, but if anything he felt invigorated by his efforts rather than exhausted. His english wasn't as good as her Japanese, but at least he didn't feel like he was entirely at a disadvantage when speaking with her.

"Then let us be friends, Joushiro. But my friends call me Lacus, not Princess, at least when its just the two of us. I don't like being addressed by my title any more than you do. It's such a stifling formality. It puts people at an artificial distance, and I don't think either of us can afford to be distant with the other right now." Lacus answered with a slight smile of understatement. She reached down and took a sip of the cup of green tea that Joushiro had gracefully and helpfully prepared for her. It was nothing at all like the black teas she was used to having on occasion back home, but the almost scalding warmth was just the thing needed to keep a person warm on a chill winter's morning like this one. Snow was gathering in the air, the crisp scent rendolent on the breeze, and Lacus had no doubt that she would wake the next day to a crystal coated garden of wondrous white. She was looking forward to that.

"Definitely the truth. Though if I might be permitted to say so, being distant from you would certainly be a punishment. You look stunning in that kimono. How did you figure out how to wear it so perfectly, and from where did you acquire it?" Joushiro asked, eyeing the crimson and gold and blue feminine cut robe that the Princess was wearing, if not entirely comfortably, then at least with aplomb and dignity. She was assimiliating their entire culture with shocking rapidity, he had no doubt that in a week's time you'd hardly be able to tell she hadn't lived in the Soul Society her entire life, save for her exotic looks. Well, he wasn't about to let her be the only one who could adapt to strange customs quickly, and he made a mental note to look up his tailor and get some Crusader style clothing made for him. Come to think of it, given how they wore their armor at almost all times, perhaps he should dust off some of the ceremonial armor kept in his family's vaults, and wear that. It could be quite instructional.

"I have very capable maids and a seamstress who I suspect to be a goddess of some sort slumming in the lower realms." Lacus replied with a pleased smile, determined to work on her Japanese whenever possible, having already recieved gushing praise on her appearance both from her servants and from Alyster, but it was nice to get an unbiased opinion from someone who ought to know whether she looked good in it or not. The robes were a little drafty, and if anything even more confining at the legs than the sheerest of court dresses she wore back home, but the freedom to not wear a corset or long stockings was such a relief that she hadly minded having to take small, careful steps when moving. Indeed, with only a light cotten shift on beneath the kimono, Lacus felt almost deliciously liberated, compared to the layers of undergarments she wore under her normal clothing, sometimes as much as an inch's thickness of cloth over most of her body! She could certainly get used to wearing such things when she didn't have to be in the public view.

"Well, they are to be congratulated then. I have rarely seen such a fine kimono outside the Kuchiki or Shihoin estates." Joushiro smiled as her own smile broadened, all the more so because the compliment was heartfelt, and not simply flattery.

"Kuchiki? You mean like that stiff necked young man with the scarf that sat at your side during the meeting yesterday. He seemed a little... dry to me. I suppose it all makes sense now, if he is a membe of a Noble clan." Lacus asked, looking to expand her knowledge base.

"Yes, the Kuchiki's are perhaps the most prestigious of the four great Noble Houses of the Soul Society, as it is their sworn duty to be our historians, record keepers and the keepers of our codes of law. Byakuya Kuchiki, the man you saw, is the current head of the family, as well as the Captain of the 6th Division, a post that is hereditary to the Kuchiki family. He can be a little... dry, to use your word... but Captain Kuchiki is held in great esteem by all who know him." Joushiro explained.

"Being groomed for greater things, is he? Yes, I can see that. Once he learns to loosen up a little, he will truly be a formidable man. And at such a young age too... he can't be much more than four hundred..." Lacus mused, abandoning Japanese for the time being, wanting to be more sure of her question phrasing while on interesting topics. She took another sip of tea contemplatively.

"Is that the same situation for Duke Fane, if I might be so bold as to ask?" Joushiro wondered, carefully watching the Princess's facial features for signs of reluctance or dismay. He didn't want to broach any sensitive topics so soon, and certainly not while they were enjoying a peaceful morning. "He is such a young man, but he seems to bear such heavy burdens. Is he being tested for some greater responsibility in the future? Or is his burden self assumed, so that he might prove himself worthy of some other honor...?" Joushiro cocked an eyebrow quizzically, having already noted that Duke Fane had spent the night not in his own quarters, but rather those of the Princess. Far be it from him to judge the private lives of others, he just wished to know if there might be something to keep in mind there.

If he was worried about offending his guest, he needn't have worried, for Lacus broke out in a brief flurry of chuckles as she wiped politely at her lips with one sleeve of her kimono. "Oh, that was well and delicately put, Joushiro. Touche, touche I say! Yes, Alyster and I are a couple, you have that right, and yes, many others do not approve of our relationship, most especially my family and my father. Unfortunately, there is no act of heroism or chivalry, no possible foe he could surmount, that would make Alyster a suitable match for me in my father's eyes. He would merely lecture me upon the sheer biological impossibilities of it all, as if I was somehow not aware that Alyster's lifespan is much shorter than my own. To me that means that I should love him all the more dearly now, while I can, rather than merely retreat and never love anyone but my own family. I've allowed myself to lose him before, but I won't let him be taken from my side again. No amount of familial displeasure or scandalous whispering is too much to endure for the sake of someone who loves me for the person I am, rather than the position I hold."

"You've lost him before?" Joushiro asked, not quite sure he'd heard or translated that right. It sounded like she'd meant he had been killed before, yet obviously that was not possible, was it? He'd heard that one of Ichigo's friends, Orihime-sama, had the power to reject reality and even bring back the dead, but he'd never seen it in action, and he doubted that such a power could exist in more than one person at a time, it would simply be too disruptive to the Great Cycle.

For a long time it looked like Lacus wasn't going to reply to his query, and Joushiro feared that he had perhaps overstepped the bounds, even for a friend, but just as he was about to muster a topic change, she spoke once more. "Do you believe in reincarnation, Joushiro?"

"Well, yes, all Souls are reincarnated when they die, its part of the Great Cycle of life..."

"And do you believe that a Soul's connection or bond with another Soul can survive the cleansing process of reincarnation? Have you ever met anyone that seems so achingly familiar to you that you must have known them in some past life?"

"I can't say that I have, but I wouldn't entirely discount the possibility. I have seen stranger things happen." Joushiro answered carefully, well aware that he was treading on thin ice over a very dangerous and personal topic.

"I first met Alyster 1300 years ago, when I was but a girl. I was much more openly precocious in those days, and I had run away from home and my tutors, little realizing what a stir my absence would cause. I was wandering through a forest, quite vulnerable and alone, before bumping into him. His name was Lyster in that incarnation, and he was barely as physically old as I was, yet he was living on his own in the middle of the forest with only occasional contact with other orphaned children. He was not endowed with great spiritual energy, but as for heart, he had more than anyone else I'd ever met. He was the first truly free and unburdened Soul I had ever encountered, and he taught me so much about my own deepest desires that I felt like I was a butterfly finally emerging from a cocoon. I'd never had so much fun as I did with him, trooping through the forest, singing made up songs and playing silly games with absolutely no point whatsoever. For the first time, I felt like a person, not a Princess. But then my father's guards found us, and somehow gained the impression that Lyster was trying to kidnap me, despite the fact that he was only a child himself. I screamed for them to stop, but it was already too late, their arrows already loosed, Lyster's life already pouring out onto the dirt. That was the first time I lost him, and it felt like I'd lost myself at the same time..." Lacus explained, her eyes cast down and away, fingers playing with the cuffs of her sleeves as she related her tale.

"I'm so sorry. No child should have to witness such a thing, especially with a friend..." Joushiro carefully reached out and touched Lacus on one shoulder comfortingly. She seemed a bit stunned at the gesture, but when he went to remove his hand, she grabbed it and squeezed for a moment.

"Thank you, Joushiro. Your sympathy means a lot to me. Though if you would forbear speaking of this to others, I would appreciate it... its..."

"Speak of what exactly, Lacus?" Joushiro smiled easily, glad to see that she could respond in kind. He searched for another topic, having no further wish to intrude on her private life, and one was fortunate enough to walk into sight at just that moment. "I must say, I have never seen such creatures as your Sacred Goats before. They are quite striking animals. I see why you hold them in such reverence, they have quite a mysterious aura to them." Joushiro said, nodding his head as one of Duke Elkiran's herd wandered into the garden, its coat of fur a burnt orange color with tips of silvery green, curling horns of darkest black rising from its head as it sheepishly regarded the two seated Souls through purple eyes with cross shaped pupils of white. The bell at its throat jangled as it stepped down off the porch terrace and into the grass, and began unobtrusively browsing at the grass, carefully avoiding flowers and other decorative bushes. "And so well behaved and clean too... truly magnificent beasts!"

"Sacred Goats?" Lacus asked in mild confusion, her mind still in the past with Lyster and Allance and the other incarnations of Alyster that she hadn't been able to save or treasure for as long as she wished. She blinked and stared at the eye watering quadruped that was placidly chewing his cud a few dozen feet away, her eyes narrowing as she clenched one hand inside the cover of her voluminous sleeve. _Damn you Mal, not this AGAIN! How many times are you going to pull this stunt? Do you really want a conflict with these people so bad that you're willing to resort to such measures to spy upon them? Did you learn nothing from the last time you put the Fey through this charade? Do you not remember Locke getting spitted and roasted by those tribals? How are you going to explain THAT to his family when we return home? I see another lecture is in order and no more Ms. Nice Princess either!_ "Oh... THOSE Sacred Goats, yes, yes they are magnificent creatures. Very obedient to their master. Sometimes too much so..." Lacus added aloud, skewering the Fey, Bade, with her gaze, causing him to quail and flinch away.

"Truly? They seemed rather unruly to me. They kept trying to run away from Duke Elkiran when he asked me for help in finding stabling for them..." Joushiro commented, plucking a few strands of grass from the turf at his feet and holding them out in his hand, beckoning the technicolored goat forward with a smile. The creature seemed excessively nervous for some reason, but eventually he was able to coax it forward to take the grass from his fingers, which it did with utmost care, barely even brushing his fingertips with its leathery lips. "Though this one seems exceptionally polite now."

"Yes, well, they tend to be on their best behavior around me." Lacus replied, her voice cool as she too shifted forward, moving a little awkwardly, not so much because of the kimono, but because of the yards and yards of crimson hair that fell unbound from her head. She reached out and patted Bade on the head, the movement sweet, the intent behind it anything but. She did NOT appreciate being checked up on in this fashion. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but they are drawn to me sometimes, and they can be difficult to dismiss. Well behaved or not, they are always obstinate creatures."

"It's no problem at all. I just hope all the other Divisions take the Captain-General's announcement regarding them to heart. In accordance with Duke Elkiran's advice, they have been given free reign to travel throughout the Sereitei, and they aren't to be molested or bothered by any Shinigami. The last thing we wish to do is insult your religious customs by harming your Sacred Goats." Joushiro answered with a smile.

"Yes... our religious customs." Lacus hedged, damning the Duke of Shadows for putting her in this position, where she had to lie to her new friend in order to prevent a greater incident from occuring. Her hand tightened reflexively on one of Bade's horns, her thumbnail digging through the hard outer enamel of the bony protrusion and digging into the soft, nerve rich under layers. The reaction was instantaneous and extreme, Bade's entire body going as stiff as a steel pole as pain like a dozen thunderbolts striking his head all at once ripped through him. He toppled over in a heap, drool dribbling from his mouth, beel jangling as his body and limbs twitched and spasmed as he fought to maintain the concentration required not to revert to humanoid form. **"Oh dear, did that hurt? I'm so sorry, Bade, but perhaps next time you'll remember that though Mal commands you, I command Mal, and I don't appreciate being spied upon. Now leave us alone, or I'll give you more than a painful squeeze."**

"Is he okay? What happened?" Joushiro exclaimed, stunned at the goat suddenly keeling over like it had suffered a seizure. Was it the grass? Was the food here poisonous to them somehow? This could be a...

"He's fine." Lacus assured him, as Bade weakly struggled back to all four feet and hurriedly trotted away, making a beeline for the path leading out of the garden. She brushed her hair back irritably, damning its inconvenient length as well, for the millionth time, or so it felt. "They just get a little overexicted sometimes, and they faint. Our own fault, we keep them too close, don't let them live as freely as we should, and they have lost some of their innate survival capabilities because of it. Don't worry about the goats, Joushiro. I'm sure your people will treat them with all the respect they deserve..."

xxxx

**10th Division Offices, same time**

"Matsumoto! What... the... Hell... is... that... THING!" Captain Hitsugaya demanded, biting off each word as he struggled against the urge to draw his sword and freeze every other living creature in his office into an ice sculpture. Given that it was only Rangiku and the THING in question, he figured it would be no big loss. Then again, given how Momo was chuckling behind him, he might have to freeze her too, if he wanted any peace and that would definitely be a loss. Too much of a loss to bear. So he gritted his teeth and crossed his ams across his chest and leveled his best "I'm three seconds and half a reason shy of exploding with the force of a thousand horrible deaths, so shape up or ELSE" glare. Unfortunately, he'd been leveling such glares at Matsumoto for pretty much their entire professional relationship, and she seemed to have become selectively blind to them.

"It's a goat, sir. Surely you've seen one before." Rangiku pointed out lazily, taking another sip from her cup of sake as she lay sprawled out on the office couch, her bust all but popping free of her uniform, her jug of sake propped on the floor within easy reach, her newest and perhaps best drinking buddy seated across from her, nose down in a large bowl full of sake.

"Yes, I do know a goat when I see one, Lieutenant, and in fact, unless I am much mistaken, that is actually one of the Crusader's Sacred Goats! Whom you are almost certainly POISONING by feeding it sake!" Hitsugaya hissed, feeling veins throbbing on his forehead. "But, but, perhaps I did make a mistake and have asked you the wrong question. I did not meant WHAT is that thing, because as we both agree, it is a goat, if an oddly colored one, but rather I was asking as to WHY THE HELL THERE IS A GOAT IN MY OFFICE?"

"Well, I was feeling a bit thirsty from doing all that paperwork..." Rangiku waved nonchalantly at her desk, which was flooded with paperwork forms, 99.9 percent of which were unfilled out, and more specifically, at the two logistical request sheets she had in fact filled out, one requesting another shipment of sake for the "officer's mess" and another putting in for a new load of plus sized uniforms, since hers were all getting a bit ratty lately. "So I went to get a drink, and found my buddy here wandering around the courtyard, obviously lost and nearly as thirsty I was. Can we keep her, sir? Can we? I never thought I'd actually encounter someone... or something in this case... that can actually match me shot for shot with sake. Not only that, but she can do tricks too! Here, watch... shake, goat-chan, shake!" Rangiku declared excitedly, reaching out one hand in a handshaking gesture, which the goat met with an upraised forehoof, just like a trained dog or cat might.

"NO! We cannot keep it as a pet. Did you not hear me when I mentioned it was a Sacred Goat, one of the very ones described by Captain-General Yamamoto's Hell Butterfly message this morning, only an hour or two ago? It belongs to those foreigners, its apparently some sort of religious thing, and you KNOW how touchy people can be over religious matters. Gods help us all if they find out you took one of their goats and are hiding it in my office and feeding it alcohol!" Though Hitsugaya did have to admit that the animal did not seem any the worse for the wear for having imbibed an unknown but certainly extreme quantity of sake, if it really had been keeping up with his Lieutenant, something which even Captain Zaraki couldn't always do successfully! Sighing heavily, he stepped into his office, Momo following close behind, deepening his scowl as Matsumoto gave him a cheerfully lewd wink, as she always did when he and Momo arrived together.

"Aww, but it's so cute, Shiro-chan..." Momo protested, immediately backing up Rangiku, not that he should have expected anything else. Momo crouched down beside the seated goat, cooing at it as she scratched its ears, running her hands through its striking coat of white with blue streaks, rubbing its violet colored horns. The orange star pupils in the black eyes were a little disturbing, but that was probably just because she wasn't used to it. "She matches your coloration so well too, Shiro-chan. We could make her our mascot."

"Yes, that's JUST what I need, another female cluttering up my office and preventing me from getting any real work done." Hitsugaya muttered grumpily, his grouchiness not helped by both Rangiku and Momo breaking out into chuckles at his irritation. He just couldn't win against them! The goat's bell jangled as she got to her feet and paced regally over to his desk, while Hitsugaya did his best to ignore the creature, taking down a stack of paperwork from the ever growing mountain that seemed to reside in his inbox now that he was doing most of the 5th's administration as well, and preparing to buckle down to another long day of filling out reports and countersigning forms. However, he couldn't ignore it when the goat put her head in his lap and looked up at him soulfully, rubbing her horns against his forearm in an obvious gesture of cuddling.

"Aww, she's so friendly, Shiro-chan. She just wants to be loved..." Momo was all but starry eyed herself as she watched the goat nuzzle her boyfriend.

"Damn it..." Toushiro grumbled, finally putting down his pen and grudgingly patting the nuzzling goat on the head a few times. "Yes, yes, good goat. I do see you, but I'm busy right now. Go back to Matsumoto and Momo. I'm sure they're dying to coddle you. Now leave me alone or..." Toushiro was still completing his sentence when the sacred goat darted her head up out of his lap, leathery lips scraping across his desk as she snagged his current piece of paperwork off his desk and promptly chewed and swallowed it before he could do anything but stare in shock, before his entire face turned ruddy with rage. "WHAT THE FUCK? IT ATE MY FUCKING PAPERWORK! BAD GOAT, BAD FUCKING GOAT!"

"Now, Shiro-chan, you shouldn't curse like that, its not polite!" Momo admonished him, in between gales of giggles.

"Yeah, normal little boys that swear like that get their mouth's washed out with soap, Captain." Rangiku added, clutching her sides, her eyes shining with glee. Not only did the goat drink sake in copious volumes, but she also ate paperwork? What more perfect being could ever exist?

"COULD YOU TWO DO SOMETHING TO HELP ME BEFORE IT DEVOURS MY ENTIRE WORKLOAD?" Hitsugaya screamed at them, getting redder and redder as he all but wrestled with the goat as she attempted to climb onto his desk, apparently enjoying the taste of his valuable and painstaking labor, and only ended up knocking his merticulously piled stacks of paperwork all over the floor, completed papers mixing with uncompleted papers in a horrid mess that would take HOURS to sort out! That was assuming of course he could stop this maniacal animal from eating it all up like it was candy corn! And that wasn't as easy as it might seem! Not only was he forbidden from causing any harm to the animal, but she possessed a not inconsiderable amount of spirit energy, and seeming experience with hand to hoof combat with people intent on subduing her! He pinned the marauding beast to the office floor for a moment, before having to jerk backwards hastily to avoid having an eye taken out by her bucking, horn tipped head, allowing her to wriggle free like a greased eel, kicking him solidly in the gut with both hind hooves in the process, dropping to his knees, gasping for breath and clutching his stomach with goggling eyes.

Seeing her boyfriend almost lose an eye to the goat dampened Momo's humor somewhat, and she began muttering the chant to a bakudo under her breath, determined to wrap the stuggling goat up in chains before she got hurt or hurt someone in turn. Unfortunately, that was pretty much when the goat got free of Toushiro's grip, and came barreling forward, hooves skidding on the paperwork covered floor, as she barely managed to avoid headbutting Momo right in the chest, instead striking side on and bowling the short Shinigami over in a heap, Kidou going messily awry, casting dozens of threadlike golden spirit chains like cobwebs across the room, which tightened and then closed around Matsumoto as she lay in hysterics on the couch, cutting off her giggles as she was tied inextricaby to the couch in a messy tangle of overlapping threads, like a fly in a spider's web.

Rolling over the prone and breathless Momo with surprising grace, the white furred goat pounced to her hooves and swiped her head at the floor several times with blurring speed, impaling several sheets of paperwork on her horns and grabbing more in her lips, before bounding forward, leaping entirely over a charging Toushiro with unexpected agility, and all but flew out the office window and into the division grounds with a mocking jangle of her bell, leaving the office... and one VERY pissed off Captain... in total disarray behind her. Could she have smirked with her mouth full of papers, Flaya would have definitely done so. As she'd told Lord Elkiran, this was going to be an easy job...

"SOMEONE CATCH THAT GOAT!"

xxxx

**12th Division Compound**

This was NOT an easy job, the Fey known as Roya thought to herself, her red and blue furred sides heaving as she panted for breath, having bought a precious moment of respite from her pursuers with her last few shift-steps. The only problem being that those shift steps had brought her further away from her ultimate goal, the outer perimeter wall of this divisional compound, and her pursuers were constantly growing in number, egged on by the maniacal orders of the divisonal leader, the clown faced man with blue hair. She'd already seen far more here in the 12th division compound than she ever wanted to see again, and though she could not understand a single word any of these shinigami were saying, judging by the layout of this compound, should she be captured, it would not be an enjoyable experience for her. Dissection might be the least of her problems! Clearly these people had not recieved the "do not harm the goats" message Lord Elkiran had tricked the Shinigami into disseminating to their troops. That or they just didn't care.

Avoiding the rank and file sorts, the ones carrying the nets and the ropes and the needles full of questionable looking fluids wasn't what was taxing her abilities. They were numerous but they were not especially physically capable in most cases, clearly this was not a division that often spent much time on the front lines of conflict. Still, they were on their home ground, and they were endelessly enthusiastic in their pursuit, obviously itching to get her strapped down to a table and at their mercy. Fat chance of that ever happening... Roya would gladly bite her own tongue off and die in goat form before she allowed herself to be humiliated with captivity. Not again. Not after all those times she'd suffered under Imperial captivity and torment in the past, before the Fey race was according Master Elkiiran's protection. However, while she had plenty of experience in avoiding large, angry and persistent mobs of lesser skilled people, the one female Shinigami in the short skirt with the revolving drill arm was an entirely different barrel of fish. She was fast, agile and hideously strong. The last and only time Roya had let the maniac get a grip of her hide, she'd had to tear loose a fistful of hair in order to get free!

Incanting a Curse while in goat form was extremely difficult, and even harder to do quietly, so that she would not alert her pursuers to the fact that she was even more special than they dared dream, but Roya was more skilled with her racial magic than most anyone save the pack alpha, Dain Lebora himself. People always assumed that the Fey would regard their social groupings as "herds" and their leaders as "Rams", because of their goat like features and transformative capabilities, but that was far from the truth. The Fey were anything but herbivores after all, and they generally despised their animal forms, which were not a choice but rather a legacy of their long dead Daemonic forebearer. Goats they might appear, but they were wolves in sheep's skin, living and fighting in packs with very close knit social ties between them. Bleating and grumbling her incantation, Roya suddenly found herself face to face with Vice-Captain Kurotsuchi and all but backed into a corner to boot. ** "... and drrown my foi en yourr sen; Currsi 33, Pistelinci..."** Roya finished under her breath.

"Mayuri-sama, I have cornered the animal in question." Nemu reported in her usual toneless fashion, wondering briefly what those gutteral noises the creature was making were about. "I am proceeding to recover it intact, as ordered. I..." Nemu swayed, suddenly feeling light headed and dizzy, conditions which were not unfamiliar to her... she did double as a testing subject for many of Mayuri'sama's newest drugs and concoctions after all, but she wasn't aware of any ongoing tests. She staggered and went down to one knee, one hand going to her brow, finding herself to be sweating and burning up with a sudden fever. She had felt the goat's spirit energy surging a moment ago, but surely a mere animal could not be responsible for her sudden onslaught of sickness? And what sort of sickness was this anyway? She watched with clinical detachment as angry, reddish boils filled with pus began sprouting on her arms and legs, her breath rattling in her lungs as phlegm dribbled down her throat, and she had to brace herself on all fours as she retched and heaved, emptying her latest undigested meal onto the paving stones.

Nemu was peripherally aware of the red and blue furred goat-creature fleeing and disappearing in short order, but she was feeling too ill to do much of anything about it. Collapsing onto her side, wheezing and coughing thickly, Nemu managed to activate her communication device once more. "I'm sorry... Mayuri-Sama... the target has... escaped me. I appear to... be infected with some... sort of fast acting disease or contagion. I apologize, Mayuri-Sama, but... but I cannot continue pursuit in this state..."

"You are utterly useless, as usual, Nemu." The irritated voice of her father, creator and master came back to her, not through her communicator but to her ears directly, as he flash stepped into the room she was lying in, his usual casual sneer of disdain write large across his masked and painted face. His ire was softened somewhat when he beheld the condition of his lieutenant and daughter... not because she was obviously suffering greatly from her affliction, but because he'd never SEEN such an affliction before. An entirely new form of disease? Was it microbial? Viral? Parasitical? So many possibilities! "I see. How curious. Red buboes, constrained breathing, extreme fever and nausea... how intriuging. How did the goat infect you, Nemu?"

"I do not know... Mayuri-sama... one moment I was fine... the next..."

"Really? Even more intriuging. Could it perhaps be a kidou like ability? A natural magical defense response?" Mayuri rubbed his hands together with glee, before remembering that the goat itself was still missing. "Damn your failures, Nemu, you let the goat get away!" He snarled at her, drawing his foot back to strike her for her inadequacy before reconsidering. Normally Nemu was supposed to be inoculated against all forms of poisons and diseases, as was he himself of course. But if this was something new, even if it might not be normally contagious, since she and he shared the same genetic structure, he might become contaminated if he touched her directly without proper quarantine procedures. And while he did not doubt his ability to fight off and cure any afflictions, it would be inconvenient to have to lock himself into his labs for the hour or so it would take to investigate and defeat this new disease. "Tch. You just keep getting more and more inconvenient, don't you?" He snarled, before a new idea occured to him.

"Well, perhaps not. Perhaps not. Now let me go call 4th Division. I wonder if that bitch of a Captain will be able to treat your condition personally... oh, what I would give to see her all feverish and covered in boils!" Mayuri chuckled vindictively at the thought. Cure his posions with ease, would she? It was not to be borne!

"Captain! Captain Kurotsuchi! We FOUND the goat! We found the... MY EYES! OH MY GOD MY EYES! I'M BLIND... I'M BLIIINNNND!"

"Most intriuging indeed..."

xxxx

**Second Division Compound**

Closing her eyes, Soi Fon focused her consciousness into a meditative state as she went about her morning warm up exercises, starting out with slow and broad motions, punches, kicks, blocks and sweeps, before moving faster, putting in jumps, flips, rolls and ripostes as she shadow boxed her way around her personal dojo floor, mentally replaying her last battle with Yourichi-sama, which had at that time ended in a loss for Soi Fon. Now, after years of practice and further growth on her part, she was defeating her imaginary Yourichi a good seven times out of ten, though there was no telling for sure whether this meant she'd actually gained on her former mentor or not, as she still had yet to see the full extent of Yourichi-sama's true strength. The shock of seeing her ultimate super-secret attack form, Shunko, be completely old hat to her mentor during their fight had been the second greatest shock of Soi Fon's life, with the first being of course the day Yourichi-sama had disappeared on her without any explanation whatsoever, a century prior.

Warmups completed, Soi Fon reached for the hilt of Suzumebachi to practice some forms with her Zanpakuto, but her relaxed concentration was broken by a sudden hubbub from the near distance outside her personal training area. The raised voices were bad enough, but when the voices were joined with the sounds of breaking furniture and falling objects, Soi Fon's extremely limited resevoir's of patience and tolerance were instantly exhausted. If this was another stupid performance by Omaeda, she was really going to skin him alive and nail his hide to the Divisional gateway! He might be only half the buffoon he appeared to be, but that was still half a buffoon too much in her eyes! Stalking out of her dojo, pausing only to straighten her hair and slip on her Captain's haori and the sleeves that came with it, which she of course removed prior to practice to avoid destroying it when she activated Shunko, as it would not do for her subordinates to see her even slightly disheveled, Soi Fon headed up the stairs that lead to her underground training chamber, her irritation growing with every stride as she listened to the growing chaos that seemed to be taking hold of her perfectly ordered division.

Whereas some Captains would have burst out into the common areas shouting and demanding to know what was going on, Soi Fon was not so obtuse. If she needed her subordinates to tell her what was going on, then she wasn't doing her job properly. She ghosted out into the main courtards of her divisional compound, keeping to the early morning shadows, several of her division members looking right past her, to her joint pride and dismay. More training was clearly in order, even with her obvious skill, she shouldn't be so easily able to remain hidden in near plain sight. A quick shunpo carried her to the source of the noise, as she alighted on the roof of an outbuilding and looked down into one of her divisional training grounds, one that bordered on the large wilderness preserve where her troops practiced their forest survival maneuvers. Because of the nature of their work, the 2nd Division training grounds were much more expansive and varied than most divisions had access to.

This one was currently host to several squads of her troops, all of whom were in an atrocious state of disarray and confusion that made Soi Fon grind her teeth in unamused anger. They looked like a bunch of chickens running around with their heads cut off. And when she finally caught sight of what they were stumbling about in pursuit of, Soi Fon made a mental note to actually behead the lot of them, to see if they could run around without heads, because they plainly weren't using the ones they had in any appreciable way! Her division, the vaunted Secret Remote Special Forces command, were in confounded pursuit of none other than a goat. An unusually agile and quick goat perhaps, but it was still just a goat. Beheading was too good for these slobs... it was time to get out the boiling oil and coffin's filled with flesh eating worms! The only saving grace about the situation was that it was happening on her divisional grounds... if members of other divisions had been witness to this travesty, she probably would have just decided to kill everyone in the Division and start over from scratch, that being the only good way to cleanse the shame...

Soi Fon flash stepped again, and appeared directly behind the whale like bulk of her Lieutenant, enough loose flesh on just his torso to build three of her. She contemplated drawing Suzumebachi and piercing his layer of blubber to see if he might deflate like a balloon, but managed, with a supreme effort of will, to choke down the impulse. Omaeda was directing the attempts to surround and bing down the black furred beast, alternately shouting furious commands and looking around with patent nervousness, obviously wondering when she was going to show up and what she would do if the situation wasn't under control by then. Of course he neglected to check in his own rain shadow, and Soi Fon took no small delight in the way he jumped when she cleared her throat slightly, more a dangerous purr than anything else.

"Would you care to explain what the Hell it is you're doing, Omaeda?" She asked, her voice buttery smooth as her lieutenant whirled to face her, his face uncommonly chalky in complexion.

"Well, Captain, you see that..."

"Not that it matters any." Soi Fon continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Because I'm going to kill you, slowly, no matter what idiocy you try to spout off to excuse your pitiful and utter failure as a ninja. I always knew you were a slacker and a lout, Omaeda, that was never a mystery to me. But to be stymied by a goat, a farm animal? That is a new low, and one I hope to never see bettered! Killing you is not so much a punishment as it will be a mercy... the only mercy you'll ever get from me."

"N-N-Now, C-Captain, this is not what it looks like!" Omaeda protested, stuttering as was his habit for when he was scrambling for words.

"Really? So I am NOT watching thirty of my supposedly highly skilled and well trained Special Forces ninja running around in a disorganized mob while an idiot roars contradictory orders in the pursuit of capturing a barnyard animal? And UTTERLY FAILING TO DO SO! That's not what's going on? Okay, Omaeda, I'll humor you, this one time, because it will be the last time you get to spin me a story, because I'm going to slowly peel off your skin and bury you alive in a clay grave filled with scorpions as soon as you get done spinning your fable. So go on. Give me your best shot. Explain yourself. Maybe if you can make laugh hard enough, I'll just disembowel you and throw you off the roof instead." Soi Fon challenged, her tone icy and smug at the same time.

Unfortunately, Omaeda had an ace up his sleeve, as usual. "It's one of the Crusader's Sacred Goats." He explained, his voice losing its tremulous note as he came clean with his Captain, knowing that while she didn't always mean every bit of her threats, when she started offering a choice between two horrible deaths, she was just about at the end of her patience, and liable to actually try and carry through on her threats. And with Captain Soi Fon, there was no try, there was only do or do not. If she pulled her Zanpakuto on him, he was as good as dead, by the very laws of the Special Operations force, and she was already fingering Suzumebachi's hilt. "We found it wandering around the back gardens, headed towards your private quarters, and I decided that it would be best to capture it. For all we know, it could be carrying some sort of recording or monitoring device. The Captain-General has announced that harming these animals is forbidden, but locking it up won't hurt it. And I figured that since apparently that Duke of Shadows guy is their owner or is responsible for them, we might be able to use it as a hostage or something. I was gonna leave that part up to you, Captain."

Omaeda sighed and scrubbed the back of his head in unabashed ruefulness. "Unfortunately, capturing it hasn't been nearly as easy as I expected. For a barnyard animal, it has spiritual pressure on par with a Lieutenant, and cunning to match. I've already sent four ninja to 4th Division to get broken limbs and cracked skulls healed up, and we still haven't been able to lay a finger on the bastard thing." Omaeda gripped the hilt of his Zanpakuto grumpily, clearly wishing he could draw it and use it to slice or smash the offending creature into oblivion.

"Well, Omeada, maybe you do get to live after all. I never would have thought you the sort to think to procure me a hostage on your own initiative. Even if you did chose that hostage to be a goat and have as yet failed to procure it... your methods need a lot of polishing in this area... I can't fault you for the basic idea." Soi Fon replied, taking her hand off her Zanpakuto as she considered the possibilities. Having some leverage on the enemy Spymaster could be EXTREMELY useful, come to think of it, and though she hated to admit it, the thought of taking a goat, even a Sacred Goat, hostage to gain such leverage never would have occured to her. But if the goats were really that important to these Crusaders, no doubt they would trip over themselves to get one back if it was held under threat of some sort of unclean death. Of course, she'd have to take care to distance herself from the Gotei 13 in the meanwhile, so as to not cause trouble for the Captain-General and the other politicians, but she was well used to operating independently when the situation called for it.

She watched with narrowed eyes as one of her Special Forces soldiers got close to the black and crimson furred animal, only to go down with a howl of agony a second later as the goat whirled and mule kicked the man's left knee joint entirely backwards, the sharp crack of shattering bone echoing around the training grounds for a moment as the leg buckled and dropped the screaming man to the ground. Three other ninja sought to take advantage of the distraction their comrade's injury presented, just as she'd drilled into them for years and years, but by the time they arrived, the goat was already elsewhere, utiling something very much like a flash step to shift a hundred feet in the blink of an eye. Yes, this was no normal goat, and perhaps Omaeda wasn't quite as incomptent as she'd thought. Not that she would renege on her earlier opinions. She was still pissed as hell. Powers or not, this was still a goat, an animal, and capturing it should not be so hard for her division. She stared hard at the goat and then her hand flickered as she hurled a pair of throwing spikes at it, aiming for its front shoulders, aiming to cripple those limbs.

The goat ducked its head and batted away the throwing blades with a sweep of its dull crimson horns, its evasion abilities clearly not taxed by the effort. If she didn't know better, she might have thought the goat was smirking at her! "Baa... baaaa..." The goat bleated, and somehow, someway, Soi Fon knew it was mocking her. A tightening of her muscles and she was materializing behind the surprised goat, foot already drawn back for a spin kick that would punt it half a hundred yards in a single blow. However, the goat blurred into motion before the kick could land, and Soi Fon found herself forced to lean back and twirl to the side in order to avoid getting horn-hooked in the groin, the wickedly sharp points of the crimson horns looking more than capable of shredding skin and clothing with equal ease. She blocked the next head sweep with a chopping blow of her hand and thrust her other palm at the goat's nose, an instinctive reaction that would have crushed its skull in had it landed, had the beast not gurgled something in its throat and then retched a foul smelling goblet of phlegm directly into her face, which it stuck and clung like glue.

Soi Fon shunpo'd away as she clawed at the disgusting mess clinging to her face, all but trembling with rage at being caught off guard... the last thing she'd been expecting was the creature to utilize some form of kidou like magic on her! She was no longer quite so sure that this was simply a goat, as it took real intelligence to formulate and incant a spell. Then again, maybe she was overthinking this. An animal spitting phlegm as a defensive reaction wasn't exactly unheard of, many animals had a regurgitation reflex to startle predators. Finally managing to wipe the foul stuff off her face, though gluey strands continued to gum up her hair, Soi Fon looked up and found herself nose to hoof with the goat's right front leg as the animal reared in front of her and did it's best to mimic a warhorse. She dodged the blow, but it was a near run thing, and she felt the hoof actually graze her cheek for a moment, leaving a thin scratch behind. Backing off yet again, Soi Fon considered the problem. She couldn't go all out, or even close, because she needed to take it alive. And brawling with this creature was becoming both annoying and gross.

Rematerializing next to Omaeda, Soi Fon glared up at him, daring him to comment on the mess of phlegm still clinging to her bangs. Sadly, he had more sense than that, if not much more. "This was your idea in the first place, Vice-Captain, so I think I will graciously allow you to supervise this operation. I want that goat on my desk before lunch, or I'll have your head in its place. And if you literally put that beast on my desk, I'll make you clean it off with soap made from your hideous blubber, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Captain. We will capture the goat and have it ready for your inspection at lunchtime, or we will die trying." Omaeda promised quickly.

"Good. I'll be looking forward to lunch then. No matter what happens..." Soi Fon declared with a cruel smile as she disappeared again. Now she just had to fix her hair again, and maybe this day wouldn't be totally terrible...

xxxx

**Kuchiki Family Estate**

Though menial labor in all its forms was utterly beneath any true member of the Kuchiki clan, much less the head of the clan, gardening was the one exception that Byakuya allowed himself, on the excuse that it was more of an artistic pursuit than one of physical labor. It was a hobby he had picked up alongside Hisana, during her healthier years, and had maintained in the years since not only because it brought back pleasant memories of the better days of his life alongside his wife, but because he found he actually enjoyed it, enjoyed the precision of coaxing growth from his plants in the manner of his choosing, of creating order from the chaos of nature. Even in watching his flowers die and shed their petals in the autumn winds he found deeply meaningful, even instructional thoughts, and he had modeled several attack forms of Senbonzakura off the swirls of petals borne upon autumn winds as they escaped from his gardens.

Of course the Kuchiki family had an entire squad of professional gardners and groundskeepers who were devoted to maintaining and upkeeping the wider estate grounds, but they weren't allowed into his private gardens. Few living beings were, other than himself and sometimes Rukia, as well as the other important family members, on rare occasions. But the rest of the time, his garden was his sanctuary, the one place where he could let down his hair, both figuratively and literally, and lose himself in some of the simple pleasures of life for a few hours at a time. He could infrequently spare the time for such indulgences, but in the wake of the encounter with the Crusaders, he had deemed it necessary to schedule aside some time to think in private about matters without risk of interruption. All the more so because today was the regularly scheduled meeting of the Shinigami Women's Association, and though he had yet to give his official permission for them to continue using some of his estate rooms for their meetings, he did not doubt they would use them nonetheless.

He could have made a bigger deal of it, could have legitimately ejected every single one of the trespassers from his property, even used violence upon them, but he refrained, no matter how they chose to test his patience... whether it was Vice Captain Kusajishi burrowing under his walls and terrorizing his kitchens in search of candy, or Vice Captain Matsumoto commissioning a swimming pool to be made in one of the dojo chambers, or even his own Rukia redecorating rooms with Chappy the Rabbit wallpapers without permission... he just silently took it all in, choosing to regard it as a test of character, like so many other things were. Besides, were she still alive, Hisana would have absolutely adored the SWA and their antics, and it felt as if he was doing some small service to her memory to allow the meetings to continue, as long as they didn't cause any real damage to his clan's properties. Not that he would ever explain this reasoning to the SWA... knowing them, they'd blow it all out of proportion, and he did have a hard won reputation to consider...

So engrossed in these idle thoughts, as well as his formulaic considerations involving the Crusaders who had all but taken over 5th Division and transformed into into a hideous and barbaric war-camp of some sort... it being plainly visible from his own Division's perimeter, that it took Byakuya almost ten seconds to realize he was no longer alone in his garden. He started, just a twitch of his hand as it moved towards the gardening trowel he used for tending the soil of his flower beds, no Senbonzakura, but with his centuries of training and great power behind it, any tool with a metal blade of some sort could be a deadly weapon in the right circumstances. But he controlled himself in the next instant, composed his features and idly glanced over his shoulder, projecting an aura of total unconcern that he did not truly feel. In the ten seconds it had taken him to notice this trespasser, if it had meant him harm, he would have already been harmed.

It took all his years of training at keeping a straight face not to do a double take as he caught sight of his unwanted and unexpected visitor. It was a goat, its hide a deep, shimmering blue with splotches of crimson, like splatters of blood, blue horns ridged with crimson rising in impressive arcs from the top of its head, looking long and sharp enough to be used as wakizashi blades. Golden Yellow eyes with pupils of neon green in the shape of triangles peered at him with idle curiosity, as the Sacred Goat casually dipped its head and began nibbling at a row of rosebushes, its leathery lips and chomping teeth quickly stripping off a half dozen succulent blooms of pink, white, yellow and pale blue. Had any human hand, save his or Rukia's, dared to pluck one of his roses from its bush without his express permission, that hand would have soon no longer been attached to its arm! However, he could hardly lash out at a simple beast who didn't know any better, especially one that was of religious importance to honored guests of the Sereitei.

Frowning with great annoyance, Byakuya stepped forward and grabbed the offending animal by its bell collar, wondering why he had not heard the jangle of the metal clapper as the animal approached, and dragged it away from his rose bushes. This was not as easy as he had thought it might be, the creature plainly liked the taste of his flowers and dug in its hooves, almost digging furrows in his immaculately hand mown lawn. Already he could feel his meditative calm slipping away, being replaced with an uncommonly fierce sense of irritation. Usually he only felt like this around Kurosaki, who was a lot like this goat in many ways, come to think of it. Unnessecarily flashy, stupidly obstinate, carelessly insulting to his betters and fond of trampling upon and disrupting all the things that Byakuya held most dear to himself! Channeling that frustration, Byakuya lifted the struggling creature with one hand, holding it away from him to avoid its bucking horns and kicking hooves, carrying the creature out into the house proper, allowing some of his spiritual pressure to leak out, knowing that Renji would soon come running to see what was bothering his Captain. He was reliable in that, if not always in everything else.

For his part, when Renji flash stepped down into one of the sub-courtyards of his Captain's family estate, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. Captain Kuchiki had left strict orders with him the night before that he was taking one of his extremely rare mornings off, and that he was not to be disturbed for anything less than a repeat of the Winter War. Feeling his Captain's annoyance from several miles away, Renji had then hurried to the scene as quickly as possible, hoping he could save the ass of whomever had been stupid enough to intrude on Captain Kuchiki's solitude time. But upon arriving, he found his Captain in a rare state of disarray, hair unbound and hanging loosely around his shoulders, clad in a simple brown work robe smeared with dirt and grass stains, and holding a wildly struggling multicolored goat in one hand. Now, as a Shinigami and a Vice-Captain, Renji was accustomed to being presented with fairly odd sights without warning, but this one was nonetheless enough to give him a moment of pause, before he remembered his manners and averted his gaze.

"I found this in my garden, eating my roses." Byakuya explained without preamble, causing Renji to wince at the mere thought. The goat was lucky not to be sliced into a thousand bloody chunks! Those roses were some of Captain Kuchiki's pride and joys. "By command of the Captain-General, I cannot harm this creature, but if I ever see it within the grounds of my house again, I will not be held responsible for my actions and its subsequent possible disappearance from this plane of reality. In the interest of preserving peaceful relations with these Crusaders, hang onto it, Renji, and don't let it out of your sight unless the Crusaders are taking it back."

"Yes, Captain." Renji agreed, not that there was much else he could do. He reached out to take the goat, which seemed to have realized that its life was potentially hanging in the balance, because it had stopped struggling and accepted being handed off to Renji calmly. Without further ado, Captain Kuchiki flash stepped away, no doubt to try and pick up the shreds of his attempts at meditation once more. Hardly was Captain Kuchiki away than the goat lashed out with one of its hind legs and caught the unprepared Renji right in the groin with one hoof. His eyes went wide and spittle fly from his lips as he doubled over, dropping him gasping to his knees on the courtyard pavement. The goat alighted nearby, four hooves making nary a click against the stones, even the bell at its neck refusing to jangle for some reason, as it eyed the gagging Shinigami cooly.

"Baaaaaa..." It bleated at him, and then it blurred and vanished, appearing on the roof of the courtyard walls and then blurring and disappearing from view, utilizing some sort of flash step maneuver.

"Oh, its fucking ON!" Renji gasped, once he had recovered the ability to speak. Zabimaru was almost in his grip before he remembered they weren't supposed to hurt the creatures. Clambering to his feet, Renji cast out his admittedly somewhat limited spiritual senses and tried to home in on the fleeing goat, but it seemed to be hiding its energy somehow. That might explain why it had been able to sneak up on the Captain, actually. Still, there was more than one way to catch a goat, and with a quick flash step, Renji hurled himself several hundred feet into the air, gaining a bird's eye view of the estate and its surroundings. He caught sight of the beast just as it was crossing the Kuchiki manor perimeter walls, on an apparent course for the 6th division offices. Hurtling down from on high, he struck the unsuspecting animal like a thunderbolt, smashing it off its feet and scooping it up into his arms in one fell swoop.

The stunned creature slashed its horns at his eyes, but he managed to twist his head to one side to avoid taking the blow, frowning as the goat went wild in his arms, acting like his arms were red hot or something. Tightening his grip, Renji scowled and tried to think of what to do next, but ideas weren't very forthcoming. His train of thought derailed soon afterwards as the goat closed its jaws upon the back of his hand and tore out a not altogether small chunk of flesh! Startled by the pain, Renji dropped the animal and shouted in pain, watching with thudnerous eyes as the goat bleated again, twitched its tail at him and then blurred away once more. "Okay. That's how you wanna play it, asshole? Howl, Zabimaru!" Renji declared, drawing and releasing his Zanpakuto. He couldn't harm the creature... but IT didn't have to know that...

xxxx


	8. Your Misfits, My Comrades

Author Note: This is first in reply to . Thanks for reviewing for one, and now let me address some of the points you brought up, since an eventual Seige of the Sereitei is indeed in my long term plans. You are right that the Sereitei is bordered by the wall and the field that are immune to normal Kidou type attacks, and in essence form an invisible force field around the entire city that is VERY difficult for Soul type beings to get through in one piece (though clearly Garganta's and Negacion beams can pierce right through, as was demonstrated at the end of the Rescue Arc). Seige weapons would indeed be necessary to getting through this outer defense system. The Crusader Delegation however doesn't know this and is additionally making their defensive prepaations on the off chance that their own HOSTS might attack them, as that is still far from impossible at this point in time. And when the time comes for the actual seige of the Sereitei, I can assure you, the investing forces will be VERY well equipped with catapults, trebuchet's, seige towers, battering rams and all other manner of seige devices pioneered in western warfare. Getting through the walls won't be their biggest hurdle. And while the interior layout of the Sereitei would be confusing to an invading army, you should really bear in mind the difference in numbers between the two sides. Young Duke Fane commands the Order Squadron, and that has 25,000 soldiers under arms. That's more than twice the number of all the Shinigami in the Soul Society, in a SINGLE DIVISION of the Imperial army. No seige is ever easy, and the Sereitei least of all. But I don't think the Imperials would regard it as an impossible or even overly difficult operation either, coming as they do from a culture where seiges are if not common then at least normal.

That said, I've done plenty of plot development, some romance, some humor... its time to round things out with some of the stuff I do best. Combat. Some talking and plot development too of course, but I promise, the highlight of the chapter is going to be the combat. And screw the Bleach fight music, the theme songs for this big fight are "You're Going Down", by the Sick Puppies, "Sin with a Grin" by Shinedown, and "Let's Kill Tonight" by Panic at the Disco.

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, en route to the 11th Division compound, January 14th, midafternoon**

He was simultaneously excited and exasperated as he carefully limped along the boulvards of this immense fortess-city, drawing a few strange looks from those he passed, no doubt to to his haggard, dirty and bloody appearance, but it seemed that he'd chosen his disguise with his usual amount of good fortune, because no one stopped him, and few even looked twice. Apparently it wasn't entirely uncommon for members of this "11th Division" to be walking the streets after having plainly been in a losing fight, or in his case, looking like he'd just been trampled by a herd of warhorses with razors stapped to their hooves. Then again, these people didn't seem to have warhorses, so perhaps that was a bad analogy. Vandire shrugged and smirked for a moment, before remembering himself and adopting a determined but somewhat pained expression on his borrowed features, as he imagined the original owner of this shape might have had were he as apparently injured as he was. He had to be Kyo Fukada, one of several tenth seat officers of the 11th Division, not Zacharis Vandire, Duke of Vengeance and so much more besides.

Kyo's memories felt like a mass of sticky gore slathered across his brain, much like this body's head was slathered in crusty dried blood from an apparent heavy blow to the back of the skull. Most of the personal details were murky and obscured, things like the people who had been close to him or the names of family members, these things he had trouble accessing. Other things, things Kyo knew but never really thought about, such as speaking Japanese or navigating his way around this Sereitei place, or the name and location of his Division, these were more easily accessed, but even so, this was at best a shoddy diguise, more complete physically than it ever would be mentally. Thus the apparent serious head wound... all he had to do was pretend to be concussed and even delirious, and most all forms of strange behavior would be excused. As would be the slurring of his voice and the way he stumbled with some of his pronounciation as he aped the vocal patterns of Kyo. The other gashes, cuts, abrasions and gouges spread liberally across the surface of the body were just window dressing, to help support the impression that he had been in one hell of a fight and just barely managed to escape with his life.

Even so, this method would have never worked back home in the Imperium, not in any major city anyway, where there would have been eagle-eyed guards posted at each major gateway watching for walking wounded exactly like he was pretending to be. There were whole genuses of Daemons with doppleganger and shapeshifting capabilities, and after millenia of conflict, the Imperium had learned the hard way many times over that a wounded soldier was not necessarily as harmless or pitiful as they might seem. Because of this, most wounded soldiers wouldn't leave the battle line, no matter how badly injured they became, because most city and fortress guards would prefer to stab a wounded comrade through the chest than accidentally admit a Daemon into the heart of a civilian population or the inner precincts of a fortress. But apparently such things did not exist here in the Far East, or if they did, they were incredibly uncommon, as few even bothered to glance at him, much less challenge him. These people trusted their eyes too much...

He wasn't the only one taking advantage of these bumpkins and their overly trusting ways either, from the looks of things, judging by the number of eye-wateringly multicolored goats he had seen wandering around various precincts of the city. Vandire knew Fey when he saw them, as did most officers of the Imperium, regardless of the form they happened to be in at the tim. He'd even looked into recruiting them for his own goals at one point in time, thinking that such darkly tainted souls would be just perfect for his minions, but alas, Duke Elkiran had gotten to them first and thus cheated him of a loyal cadre of minions. He'd been resentful at first, but in the grand scheme of things, all minions regardless of loyalty were ultimately expendable anyways. His corruption of Duchess Lorensol had given him plenty of additional power, and his thoughts of the Fey had rapidly faded away. All the same, he did his best to avoid them now, just in case any of them managed to catch his scent, which was not at all that of Kyo, though it was masked by the stench of Kyo's blood and sweat to the point where no human would be able to tell the difference.

A cruel smirk etched its way across his face, like acid eating into raw meat, as Vandire thought about the Duchess Lorensol and his own precious Mouseling, formerly his keeper and now just his plaything. Yes, in the greater scope of things, perhaps being denied the Fey was actually a good thing. Tainted by their ancient bloodline as they were, corrupting them to his cause would have been, if anything, too easy for it to be any fun. The same could not be said for the high minded and good hearted officer of Order, Lilia Derraster, now his Mouseling, or the venerated and awesomely powerful Duchess of the Hospitaler Squadron, Claudia Lorensol! Corrupting two such paragons of justice and kindness and bending to his will and his plans? Now that was an achievement to be proud of! Not only that, but they were both endlessly entertaining as they struggled in the invisible webs of deceit and half truths he had spun about them both. Regardless of their power or moral convictions, they were both somewhat insecure women at heart, not that this weakness particularly differentiated them from any other member of their sex, or from most men for that matter. Humans were by nature creatures of rampant self doubt and insecurity after all.

It was merely a matter of discerning which things played upon a person's individual doubts and insecurities, and once you knew how to get under their skin, how to play upon their secret fears, desires and foibles, well, then they were all but yours to do with as you saw fit. The Mouseling's key was actually her greatest strength as well... her commitment to the ideal called "Freedom", in all its forms. Freedom to express oneself, freedom to make one's own choices about life, freedom to live in peace without fear of being enslaved or conscripted against one's will. As an agent of the Order Squadron, she had felt it was her duty to protect the freedoms of the people, Crusader and serf both, both from the menance of the Daemon and the subtler threat of tyranny and despotism from within the Imperium itself. It was no complicated manner to tun her focus to the injustices of necessity that were often perpetuated upon the serving classes in the name of the war effort, blowing them out of proportion, denying her the proper perspective to understand that suffering was the natural state of the serving classes in the name of greater survival of the Imperium as a whole. The difference between an outspoken officer of the law and a radical rebel against society? One little prearranged massacre of some peacefully protesting serfs.

If anything, courrpting the Duchess Lorensol had been even easier. The Mouseling had been his parole officer after all, the agent of Order in charge of determining whether his discharge from the Sanitorum was entirely legitimate and warranted, and that he was mentally fit for frontline duty as a Crusader once more. It had been her job to be distrustful and suspicious of him, and it had taken years of slow seduction and sickeningly good behavior to overcome that barrier between them, before she began to accept his own words as gospel and disbelieve the edicts of her own longtime superiors. Though no doubt aware of his past... imbalances... Claudia had nonetheless accepted him as a peer, if a junior one, as soon as he was accorded the rank of Sanctus Dominus, her trust in the Rex Divinia's personal judgement quashing all personal suspicions she might have had. To her, the idea of the Rex Divinia making such a blatant misjudgement of character was completely unthinkable. She was not alone in this opinion, in fact most of his "peers" had likewise believed so. He'd probably done them all a great favor actually, by teaching them that the "unthinkable" was merely another term for "has not yet occured but inevitably must"!

Though Duchess Lorensol was one of the longest serving military leaders in the Imperium, and the oldest and longest serving Sancta Domina period, all of her personal power and experience actually proved to be her weakness rather than her strength. Her Squadron, the Hospitalers, were the battlefield healers and logisticians of the Imperial armed forces, responsible for pathcing up their wounded comrades and making sure that sufficient supplies, both medical and military, were distributed to various battlefronts and other Squadrons. It was vital work, but it was not glamorous, and it was rare for a Hospitaler to be feted by local commanders for bravery in battle or other exceptional accomplishments. In fact, most Hospitalers were considered by front line fighters to be "second class" Crusaders, obviously too weak or inept to risk their lives in hand to hand combat with the Daemon hordes. This was a gross disservice to the Hospitalers, many of whom regularly risked their lives rescuing badly wounded comrades out from beneath the very claws of Daemons, but nevertheless, the prejudice was a prevailing opinion, and many Hospitalers were mocked, taunted, teased and even abused by other Crusaders who were disdainful or even jealous of their "cushy job".

After spending century upon century tending to countless battlefield injuries, saving millions of lives and receiving only scorn and mockery for her trouble, Claudia had had enough. She had petitioned to the Rex Divinia himself for leave to take command of a front line unit of Hospitalers, to prove once and for all that they were far from second class Crusaders, and that in fact many of the Hospitaler's most skilled battlefield surgeons and medics were incredible fighters, able to turn their knowledge of healing to destructive methods that would shock even the most battle hardened Battle Squadron or Vengeance Squadron trooper. Her request was flatly denied, the Rex Divinia declaring that her abilities of healing were far more critical to the war effort than any amount of combat power she could display. "Leave the fighting to the fighters, and the healing to the healers, Duchess. Each have their own jobs, their own purpose in our great Imperium. Be proud that you can serve as you do. To envy your peers for their own duties is beneath you. Be not arrogant, Duchess... your place is among the wounded and debilitated. That is where your war is best fought." Had been the Rex Divinia's words. True words perhaps, and wise in their way, but also incredibly insensitive to Claudia's intent in asking for such leave to fight.

Disenchanted and even embittered by being basically told to put her sword away in favor of wielding bandages and surgical needles, despite possessing a level of experience and combat power in excess of almost anyone but the Royal family themselves, Claudia had been wide open to his displays of sympathy. All it took was revealing his own "dissatisfaction" at the prejudice he was experiencing, even though he was Duke of Vengeance, because of his prior mental instability. The Vengeance Squadron was traditionally the heavy shock infantry force of the Imperium, but ever since he had taken command, they had only ever taken the field under the direct command of one of the Royal family, Vandire's role reduced from overall commander to merely assistant adjunct, as if they did not trust him for some reason, despite his years of honorable service. Of course they DIDN'T trust him, and they were right not to, but this common denominator of "unjust discrimination" was enough for Claudia to regard him as a kindred spirit. Making his way from her audience chambers to her bed chambers had only taken a few months from that point, and it was Vandire's experience that the quickest way to a powerful and confident woman's heart was between her legs.

No matter how strong and cold a woman might be on the battlefield, when it came to matters of the heart, most secretly yearned for softness and understanding, for reassurance from a confident and charismatic partner, and had a tendency to lower their emotional guard with their trusted bedmates. It started with listening to her complain about the injustice of it all, then commiserating, and then finally reinforcing her concerns, pointing out more injustices, making it all into a great conspiracy, keeping her from getting the glory and respect she deserved merely because she was a woman, something she had always privately suspected, that she was being held back to "protect" her because of her sex. It wasn't true... unlike the living world, there was little to no sexual bias in the Imperium, sex did not in any way determine spiritual powers after all, but it felt true to her, and that was all that was important. Soon it was she that was suggesting that they needed to take more direct measures to "correct this deficiency in the Imperial policies" rather than just sit by and complain to each other. From there, her fall into darkness was all but assured, and had she had yet to stop sliding down that oh so slippery slope...

Lost in his considerations, his smirk growing as his thoughts turned ribald while considering whether he could find a way to bed both the Mouseling and the Duchess at the same time, to see whether their adoration for him would be able to overcome their petty jealousy for each other... making them rivals for his attention was a perfect way of keeping both of them focused upon serving him, rather than thinking for themselves... Vandire found himself soon standing in front of the imposing wooden gates leading to the 11th Division's compound. Kyo's memories informed him that the lack of sentries or guards was perfectly normal for this lackadasial regiment, that they didn't care who happened to come trespassing because they were confident in their ability to outfight and out last any opponent. Very much like the Battle Squadron actually, the parallels with Morieth's ragtag mob were amusing. Pushing open the gates, Kyo-Vandire did a few convincing stumbles as if at the very end of his endurance, as he followed his ears towards the sound of combat, which Kyo's memories dictated would be where the majority of 11th Division would be.

Laying the act on thick, shortly after reaching the central practice field that was set up in front of the Divisional officers and officer's quarters, which were crowded with Shinigami standing in groups, some of them gambling, many of them drinking, and plenty of them sparring, including one bald headed man with his sword in one hand and sheath in the other fighting an even half dozen subordinates all at once, Vandire waited for people to notice his ragged condition, and then collapsed to his hands and knees as if he could go no further. Love of battle or not, the 11th Division wasn't QUITE so hard hearted that they would ignore an obviously wounded seated officer, especially one who was supposed to be out on patrol in the 60's Districts of the Rukongai right now with a ten strong squad of 11th Division candidate trainees. It wasn't entirely uncommon for some of these candidate trainees to not come back from these training patrols, as the 60+ Districts of the Rukongai could be a feral and dangerous place, but it was unheard of for the patrol commander alone to return, and torn to bits to boot!

Vandire allowed himself to be hoisted back to his feet, his arms thrown around the shoulders of shouting subordinates who half dragged and half carried him forward as the sounds of practice battle slowly faded, more and more Shinigami crowding around as they jabbered questions and demanded answers of him, wondering what had happened to him, what had happened to the trainees, and what the hell his problem was, getting so fucked up all by himself? If anything, some of them sounded jealous that he'd apparently found a kick ass battle and they hadn't been there. These people were lunatics... but they were definitely his KIND of lunatics! The hubbub died down a little bit as someone with authority shoved his way through the crowd, literally picking up and throwing aside some Shinigami that didn't get out of his way fast enough, and soon Vandire found himself face to shiny bald pate with none other than Madarame Ikkaku, third seat and second strongest man of the 11th Division, and as close to a day to day adminstrator as the 11th Division had... its Captain and Vice-Captain not being in any way inclined towards organization or administration in the slightest.

"What the FUCK, Fukada?" Ikkaku snarled irritably, displeased that his sparring session had been broken up just as he was getting into the spirit of thing. "How dare you come crawling back all kicked to shit like this? Where's your fucking pride as a seated officer of the 11th Division? I oughta kick your ass right now..."

"Fuck you, 'kaku!" Vandire retorted, feeling that direct confrontation would be more appropriate than any cringing or apologizing. These were not apologetic people, strength was the only thing that matter. "You sho' see the odder bastid..." Vandire twisted his guise's lips into a feral smile that said more than any words ever could as to the supposed state of Kyo's assailants. For a second, he though Ikkaku was gonna slug him in the jaw for this show of disrespect, but instead the 3rd seat just clapped him heartily on the back, hard enough to stagger most men and leave a bruise, were he not really clad in his Ornatus Sancti beneath the half real disguise.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKIN TALKING ABOUT! NOW THAT IS 11TH DIVISION TO THE BONE! You better pay attention to this man, you lot of pansies!" Ikkaku declared, any doubts about his junior's conduct having been comprehensively dispelled by the tough reply. Maybe Fukada was kicked to shit, but he clearly wasn't in any way beaten or broken if he had the gall to be that mouthy right to Ikkaku's own face. Something occured to him then, and he cast a sideways glance at the battered 10th seat. "What about the trainees?"

"They weren't tough eno' to be 11th." Vandire replied with a blood soaked grimace.

"Them's the breaks." Ikkaku shrugged, not happy to be short 10 new recruits, but if they weren't tough enough to survive whatever the hell Fukada had encountered... probably a Hollow of some sort... then the 11th was probably better without them. This wasn't a fucking daycare center after all, if you couldn't take care of yourself, you weren't welcome. That said, there was nothing wrong with seeking out some medical care when you were fucked up and victorious, and a quick stop at 4th Division wouldn't delay them so long that Ikkaku wouldn't be able to take the 10th seat out on the town for some drinks to learn what the fuck had gone down out there. "Right then, you assholes, I don't recall saying you could fucking stop fighting, did I? Get back to work before the Captain wonders what sort of girly ass patti-cake games you're playing! And you, Fukada... get your ass over to 4th Division and get yerself cleaned up. Drinks are on me tonight, but first you gotta get that head looked at."

" Fuc' tha', I'm fine..." Vandire protested, playing the role to the hilt, shaking off the supporting arms of the other Shinigami and standing on his own two feet once more. "These are just flesh wounds."

"Man, I can totally feel where you're coming from, but, no bullshit, the back half of your skull looks ready to fall off, and you look like you've been going for a roll in the hay with a whore wearing a garter belt studded with razorblades." Ikkaku pointed out with a smile.

"Like I sai', fles' wounds." Vandire insisted with a lopsided grin, hoping the 3rd seat would just freaking drop it. NOW he shows concern for Fukada's well being? "Jus' need a shower and so' new clothes, be fin'..."

"Maybe you can't hear yourself, Fukada, but you don't SOUND fine... to be blunt, you sound fucked up." Ikkaku replied, his grin slowly fading, his limited store of patience quickly running out. Machismo aside, head injuries weren't something you wanted to screw around with, you could get permanently fucked up that way, in a way not even Captain Unohana herself could fix. "Consider it a fucking order if you have to, but go get yourself looked at by the docs. A tough guy like you can't be afraid of some needles or stitches, right? You either go on your own two feet or I'll fucking lay you out right here and now and drag yer ass there myself."

_Damn it. The smart thing to do is say "yes sir", turn around and go do as he says. But any medical examination of this body will reveal that I'm not Kyo Fukada. And somehow I get the feeling that Kyo Fukada was not, even at the best of times, a man who did "smart things" when given a choice. How annoying. I seem to have talked myself into a corner._ Vandire scowled with irritation. _Oh well. If this goon wants to pick a fight with me, I guess I can afford to play with him a little bit. Maybe if I kick his ass, he'll leave me the hell alone._ "Go fuck yousel', 'kaku. I'm fine. Looks worse than it is. I feel better already. Now stop being such an old lady, geez what are you, my mom?" Vandire sneered, reaching out a hand and shoving Ikkaku on the shoulder, knocking him a half step aside. The look on the bald officer's face was simply priceless... the last thing he'd expected was his 10th seat to pick a fight with him.

"You musta been hit in the head a LOT harder than I fuckin thought, if you think you can just push past me and tell me to fuck off, Fukada. I hate fighting wounded guys, it ain't no fun, but if you're gonna be an asshole, I'm going treat you like an asshole, and kick the shit outta ya! Sun ain't yet dawned on the day where you can backtalk me without reprecussions. Draw yer fuckin sword and prepare to defend yourself!" Ikkaku challenged, brushing off his robe and whipping out his own blade, sword in right hand, sheath held like a club in the left, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. For once he really didn't want to fight, not a member of his own division who was plainly doing all he could just to stand upright, but he couldn't let a blatant challenge like that pass, or else he'd totally lose his hardass rep.

"Don' need no sword for a wuss like you, 'kaku." Vandire replied, confidently crossing his arms across his chest, as other Shinigami began scattering in self preservation, knowing that Ikkaku could get pretty wild when he was worked up. None of them could believe that Fukada, Kyo Fukada, 10th seat, was deliberately picking a fight with Ikkaku, as even on his best day Fukada would have been able to do little more than bleed on the other officer a few times, and he was clearly not at his best. Vandire didn't want to kill the guy, not yet certainly, as that would no doubt compromise his infiltration, and Falx Mortis was not the sort of Arma to hold back from a deathblow when one presented itself, so drawing his sword wasn't an option. Snarling with irritation, Ikkaku sprang forward, feinting with his sword before sweeping his weighted sheath around, aiming at the juncture of Fukada's neck and shoulder, where a solid blow would stun and perhaps even disable a man with choking and pain.

Ikkaku didn't put anywhere near full force into the blow, not wanting to break Fukada's neck before he could get him drunk and beat the shit out of him a few times for fun, but even so, he was shocked when Fukada simply raised one arm and casually blocked the swinging sheath with his forearm, a solid "THUNK" of impact making the sheath shiver a bit, though Fukada did not seem overly distressed with a blow that could have easily fractured his forearm. And then Fukada's other arm lashed out, Ikkaku saw the beginnings of the punch form, but it wasn't until the blow actually landed that Ikkaku realized he really should have put some effort into blocking it or dodging it. He had a long, painful second of backwards flight time as his body hurtled through the air, all the way across the courtyard, before slamming into and halfway through an outbuilding, to consider the fact that Fukada might have actually been holding back on him for the past few years, the asshole! Clambering to his feet, spitting out a wad of blood garnished with a few tooth chips, working his nearly dislocated jawbone back into place, Ikkaku smiled broadly. "Not bad, Fukada! But if that's all you got, you got a date with a hospital bed here real soon!" Ikkaku roared joyfully, as he leapt out of the half wrecked storeroom and barreled back across the courtyard towards his subordinate.

This time he led with the sheath and brought the sword around second, a strike aimed to gash rather than eviscerate, but just by looking at him, it was plain that Fukada couldn't stand to lose very much more blood before he'd pass out. However, once again, Fukada proved to have resevoirs of power that he'd never even hinted at possessing before, as he blocked the sheath with his forearm again, and then actually reached out and grabbed Ikkaku's sword wrist before the blade could land, halting the strike dead, just as Captain Zaraki was sometimes wont to do when facing a weak opponent. Fingers like steel clamps closed on Ikkau's right wrist, grinding the bones together, and then Fukada snapped his entire upper torso and head forward and headbutted Ikkaku right on the bridge of the nose. Cartilege snapped loudly and blood spurted from Ikkaku's nostrils as they smeared against his cheeks, stars swirling in his thoughts as he staggered backwards and sat down hard, blinking and shaking his head, wondering when the HELL Fukada had replaced his entire skull with fucking steel implants?

5th seat Aysegawa, Ikkaku's best friend and definitely the weirdest man in all of the 11th Division and perhaps all the Sereitei... though he perferred the term "most beautiful man"... watched with both puzzlement and some small, carefully hidden concern from the sidelines. Where the HELL was Fukada, never really an exceptional Shinigami by any measure, who barely even knew the name of his Zanpakuto, getting the power to stand up to Madarame this way? Sure, Madarame wasn't taking it seriously, or not very seriously anyway, since Fukada was half dead even before the fight started, but he was actually taking hits and actually taking some small damage, and as yet hadn't even managed to lay a finger on the 10th seat. Something was wrong here. The 11th Division was not famed for its spiritual sensitivity, but Aysegawa was an exception to this rule, though he kept it a careful secret from everyone, because he didn't want to be teased about it. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on Fukada, searching his aura for any hint of a Negative influence, some sort of Hollow infection or even a Vizard condition, perhaps. However, he didn't detect much of anything from the 10th seat, and what he did detect was definitely a Plus soul. Was Fukada supressing his energy? When he even learned to do such a thing?

"Okay, wiseguy, you've been holding back on us all, ain't ya been?" Ikkaku grumbled, wiping his eyes clear and plugging his gushing nostrils with salve from the secret compartment on his sword hilt. "I wanted to go easy on ya, considering yer wounds, but if you wanna play hardball, I can play hardball. Grow, Hozukimaru!" Ikkaku commanded, slamming the hilt of his sword into the opening of his sheath as he called forth his Shikai, sword disappearing and reforming as a long wooden spear, which Ikkaku twirled expertly around himself before pointing at the 10th seat. "You'd better fuckin pull your sword out now, or I won't be responsible for what happens to you!" Ikkaku pointed out. Fukada just yawned, and Ikkaku bristled at the disrespectful gesture. "Fine. Have it your way, asshole... this one's on you..."

_So that's his Ascension power. How odd these people are. I never would have expected a spear, given that he wears a sword. Does he not realize that his skill is compromised when he must learn two entirely different weapon disciplines to be able to fight effectively? It would be one thing if he was like Elkiran, and was doing it to be deliberately deceptive about his true fighting talents, but this man doesn't have a subtle bone in his body._ Vandire thought to himself, as he analyzed the Zanpakuto now leveled at him. Crazy he might be, bloodthirsty he certainly was, but he was no fool either, and only a fool didn't use his mind in combat. Madarame Ikkaku was undeniably a fool, in Vandire's book. And he could never be defeated by a fool. The spear flashed for his eyes, but it was a feint, as the spear shaft itself seperated into three seperate pieces linked by chains. _Well, maybe a little subtle after all..._ Vandire allowed, as he drifted backwards, out of the path of the sword turned spear turned flail.

Gripping the central section of Hozukimaru's shaft in both hands, Ikkaku spun the spear and butt-end sections until they became wooden and steel tipped blurs, lashing out with one end or the other as he probed Fukada's defenses, finding them to be uncommonly complete, despite the ungainly fashion in which Fukada was moving, his joints clearly stiff for some reason. Spotting his opening, Ikkaku slammed the three section staff back into spear form and jabbed upwads, aiming for Fukada's head, a kill stroke, but one he expected to be dodged as he pulled it at the last moment, even as Fukada twisted his head away. Ikkaku smirked as he felt the spearhead connect with a graze, but hopefully Fukada would realize that Ikkaku had just been playing with him, and he'd surrender rather than risk a second strike. However, Fukada did no such thing, and Ikkaku was forced to block with the shaft of the spear as Fukada lashed out with another punch, striking with such force that Hozukimaru's shaft trembled for a second and Ikkaku found his sandals skidding sideways almost a foot as he absorbed the force of the blow.

His confident smirk faltered somewhat when he glanced at his speartip and found the razor edged entirely free of blood, despite having clearly felt the jar of impact against Fukada's cheekbone. What, had Fukada learned how to use an Arrancar's Hiero in the last week or something? Ikkaku was slowly learning to use his own spiritual pressure in that way, emulating Captain Zaraki, but he was still a LONG way from blocking a Shikai strike unharmed with his bare skin! Spinning his spear around his body to build up momentum, Ikkaku launched a furious flurry of jabs with both speartip and butt-end, striking sof ast his weapon was little more than a blur of brown and silver and red feather tuft, striking from a dozen directions at once, sacrificing power for speed. He felt several blows slip through Fukada's defenses, but none of them drew blood, and Ikkaku was forced to acknowledge that his 10th seat had some sort of protection that he couldn't see. That was really FUCKING ANNOYING! Ikkaku stabbed again, irritation lending more strength than speed to the strike, and Fukada's hands moved in a blur, sweeping forward to grab hold of the spear just behind the head, jarring the strike to a halt several inches short of his breastbone.

For just a second, as Ikkaku stared into the face of the man who was holding back his Shikai like he was waving a child's baton, it didn't feel at all like it was Fukada that he was fighting, bot someone both darker and infinitely more powerful, but Ikkaku didn't have long to ponder the sensation, as Fukada launched a punt-kick that sank into Ikkaku's gut so far he could swear he felt Fukada's toes tickle his backbone, doubling the third seat over as saliva and blood vomited from his jaws, every bone in his body suddenly feeling like they were made of gelatin as his stomach tried to climb out his throat to get away from the foot in his gut. Ikkaku staggered and sagged, kept upright more by Fukada's grip on Hozukimaru's shaft than any effort on his own part, and coughed thickly, dazed and winded by the power of the kick. He felt Fukada grab him by the collar, but he was still clearing his head when the 10th seat hoisted him up into the air and then hurled him away like a sack of garbage, sailing across the courtyard one more time, and completing the demolition of the storage shed he had half collapsed earlier.

Kicking his way free of the wreckage, spitting blood and bile from his mouth, Ikkaku's hands went white knuckled on Hozukimaru's shaft as he stumbled into a trot, and then a run, howling with wordless fury as he threw himself back into the fray, towards the smirking Fukada, who STILL hadn't drawn or released his sword! All but lost to battle fury, Ikkaku almost took a swing at the person that suddenly appeared, interposing himself between the two fighting officers, before his wild eyes took in the black AND the white coats the interloper wore, and he skidded to a halt, turning his charge into a bow of respect. "Captain Zaraki, sir!"

"What the hell you playin' at, Madarame? You're getting your butt kicked." Kenpachi observed dryly, glancing between 3rd and 10th seat. Something was strange here, he knew his 3rd seat was as tough or tougher than many Vice-Captains in other squads, which was why he was proud to have him as his 3rd seat. And Fukada had never been more than a middling fighter, well suited to roughing trainees perhaps, but he shouldn't have been going toe to toe with Madarame like this, especially when already wounded. Kenpachi Zaraki really didn't give a shit what most of his soldiers did on a day by day basis, but the one thing he couldn't stand was being lied to, especially when it came to how strong you were. He was willing though, to grant some grace to exceptional performers, such as turning a blind eye to Madarame's Bankai, or playing dumb about the true nature of Aysegawa's Zanpakuto... as if he'd ever ditch his 5th seat just because he broke an "unspoken rule". Who gave a shit about rules? Now, if he lost a fight, that was a different story. All he cared about was strength and winning, and it didn't matter if that strength came in physical or magical form. Strength was strength, winning was winning. Well, whatever.

"And you... Fukada... what the fuck do you think yer doin', hiding all this power from me? You know we don't keep our power secret here in the 11th. You wanna strut about "hiding your true power" all the damn time, I'm sure I could transfer you to the 6th or the 10th or one of those other kiddie divisions." Zaraki eyed the 10th seat balefully, hiding his grin at the briefly twisted expressions on Ikkaku and Aysegawa's faces as a leer of distaste. "Well, whatever. I'm cutting in here. You'd better not be thinking you can hold back against me, Fukada. I'll cut your ass in half with my first blow, if you don't fight me for real." Kenpachi let his leer grow, as he drew his jagged edged sword. Well, he had been kinda bored anyway, and was still pissed off from not getting to fight Pimp-Suit, maybe this was just what he needed to take his mind off things...

_Oh, how excellent..._ Vandire thought sarcastically to himsef. At literally any other time he would have relished the chance to face up against a Shinigami captain... cracking open this tough shell in front of him to find the gooey, steamy, melty bits inside would be ever so much fun, but he wasn't here to fight, he was just getting a lay of the land. And it was plain that this Zaraki person was possessed of significantly greater power than Ikkaku... he was telling the truth when he said he could cut Fukada's body in half if he tried to go toe to toe with him without his Arma Sancti. But to draw it, much less release it into Ascension, would show that it was no sword at all, but a scythe, and that would be that, as it was said. "Listen, Captain, there's no need for..."

"Shut up and fight, or I'll cut you down anyway." Zaraki snapped back, a feral light glowing in his visible eye as he began to draw back his sword. Vandire was just about to cut his losses and flee... what did he care about pride at the moment, inhabiting a dead man's guise as he was, when salvation from an unexpected source came into the equation.

"Ken-chan, Ken-chan, we got visitors!" A young female voice called exuberantly, as a hyperactive ball of black and pink zoomed into the courtyard, kicking up a huge dust trail as the tiny, childlike Vice-Captain of the 11th all but pounced onto the back of her adopted father and gleefully hugged his neck.

"Tell em I'm busy right now..." Kenpachi told Yachiru. "And get off me, I'm about to do some fightin..."

"Against Scaggle-hair?" Yachiru asked curiously, utilizing one of her many nicknames for people, the one she had assigned to Fukada, because of his somewhat sparse but long black hair. "That doesn't seem like it would be much fun, Ken-chan..."

"Tell that to Madarame." Kenpachi hooked a finger over his shoulder irritably.

"Oooohhh... Baldy's bleeding!" Yachiru noted the obvious, following the indicating pointer to look down on the 3rd seat. "Did Ken-chan step in to save you, Baldy?"

"NO!"

"Like I would fucking do that..." Kenpachi growled, echoing Ikkaku's angry denial. He turned his head and gave his adopted daughter and vice-captain a stern look. "Now get down. I'm busy, like I said."

"Wellll... oookaaayyy... buuuutttt..." Yachiru replied with cheerful insolence. "Ken-chan might wanna look over that way before he gets too busy with Scraggle-hair." Yachiru gestured off towards the main gate of the Divisional compound, which was just swinging shut as Kenpachi twisted his head around. He didn't listen to very many people, not even the people that he really ought to listen to, like the Old Fart, but he'd never turn down a bit of advice from Yachiru, no matter how annoying she might sometimes get. She was all the family he had after all. And as it turned out, this time, Yachiru was completely and totally right, as he felt a very predatory grin stretch widely across his face.

"Well, I'll be damned..." Kenpachi muttered, as he watched the person he had last expected to see and most wished to see, come sauntering down the path towards the 11th division main courtyard like he owned the place, resplendent in his pimp-suit of blue and crimson with the huge black hat, leading a group of similarly dressed followers... every man and woman of them smirking and bristling with weapons. It was like a dream come true.

"Yes, may you be damned..." Vandire agreed, mostly to himself, as he edged away from the 11th Division Captain, whose attention now seemed entirely focused up the approaching Duke Morieth, like a star crossed lover watching their partner ride out of the sunset. Talk about an unlikely source of salvation, but he wasn't about to look this gift horse in the mouth! And with any luck, Morieth and Zaraki would kill each other and maybe even others, as neither was the sort of man to back down from a challenge or accept anything other than total victory or death! He watched Morieth out of the corners of his eyes, not wanting to stand out too much, as the Duke of Battle was no fool, despite his buffoonish tendencies. He was disappointed to see that the man seemed fully in control of himself, and was only manifesting the very first phases of his Asmodian transformation. And after he'd gone to all that trouble to release the man's Inner Daemon too. Well, give it time, it wasn't like there was any cure or way to go back...

xxxx

Vladimo ambled up towards the gathered Shinigami, an easy grin plastered on his face, but the light of battle-fury shining in his eyes as they bored into the one eye of the Fruitcake. Maybe they couldn't understand a fucking word they were saying to each other, but actions spoke louder and clearer than any words could, and swords spoke even louder than other types of actions. He knew he was gonna catch hell from the Princess for doing this, but he just couldn't let sleeping dogs lie. Ever since they'd been interrupted at the North Gate, he hadn't been able to think of much else besides putting the fucking Fruitcake down good and hard, and judging from the look in the Fruitcake's eye, the feeling had been mutual. That's what happens when two alpha wolves meet in the forest. They can't help but try and kill each other for dominance. It was just hardwired instinct.

**"All right, people, you know the drill. I don't give a fuck how many fights you pick, as long as you win. Anyone who gets their ass kicked by a robe-wearing nancy has to foot the bill when we go out drinking tonight. Its our first real night off back in a semblance of civilization, and I promise you, I am going to fucking break your bank if you give me the chance."** Vladimo let his grin grow as he heard the raucous and high spirited chorus of replies. **"Oh yeah, and also, don't kill anyone. Sucks, I know, but the Princess would have my balls for breakfast if we make a bunch of corpses. Even robe-wearing nancy corpses."** He added as an afterthought, to a more subdued response.

Sauntering up to the crowd of black robed Shinigami, Vladimo let his aura of deadly intent push the small fry aside, many of them trying to be brave but then paling and stepping back real quick like once they got a good taste of the threat he was putting off. Sometimes it was such a burden, being the biggest badass around. Made it hard to talk to other people. Buncha weaklings. He always felt like he was walking on eggshells around them, afraid to reach out and touch them for fear of breaking them apart accidentally. Well, at least the Fruitcake seemed tough enough not to wilt like a daisy in the summer sun, though it was REAL tough to take him seriously while he was wearing that little pink haired tyke on his shoulder, especially as she was waving at him so cheerfully. **"Yo, Fruitcake. Ditch the kid. I wanna kick your ass, and I don't hit kids."** Vladimo said conversationally, well aware that they couldn't understand him, but he had to say SOMETHING, didn't he?

Aysegawa took it upon himself to step forward and attempt to mediate things, it being plain that the Crusaders were here looking for trouble, and equally plain that giving it to them would only upset literally every other person in the Sereitei. He held out a hand to stop the oncoming Duke, who looked down at him like he was some form of roach or other unpleasant insect. **"You touch me with that hand, featherface, and your stump will pull back a stump."** Vladimo commented, baring his teeth in what some might have thought was a smile. However, when your teeth were jagged, dagger-like fangs, baring them became less friendly and more threatening. The grin grew yet further, as Aysegawa got the hint and slowly stepped aside. **"That's what I thought. Prancy ninny thought he could naysay me? Not in this universe or any contiguous one!"** Continuing to march forward imperiously, Vladimo only stopped when he was all but chest to chest with the bell haired Fruitcake, very much in the man's personal space, glaring into each other's eyes from barely the distance of their combined nose lengths.

The pink haired kid had finally gotten down, still smiling that cheerful, simpleton grin of hers, and Vladimo could not help but admire someone who was so completely and totally unafraid of him, despite being well within his aura. Especially since she was just a little kid. The training wheels on her short sword's sheath had to be the most adorable thing he'd ever seen in his entire multiple century long life! For his part, Kenpachi was still trying to decide whether or not he was having a good dream or really awake. Who would have ever expected Pimp-Suit to come casually strolling into Zaraki's very own yard, spoiling for a fight with that smarmy grin plastered on his face? He wasn't just asking for a fight, he was BEGGING for it! And with Yachiru now out of the way... Kenpachi let his grin expand to match that of the Crusader getting in his face. "Ok then, lets have some fun, huh, Pimp-Suit? Here, you have first shot. Its on me..." Kenpachi declared, pulling aside his haori and robes to bare his chest invitingly. "Try and at least give me a scratch, kay? I don't want this to be boring." Kenpachi added, to cheers and jeers from his Division.

**"Point to you, Fruitcake, point to you."** Vladimo smiled as he slowly pulled Zobens from his sheath at his hip, the broadsword all but quivering with the same excitement as his master. **"Look at this clown, ladies and gentlemen. He's actually giving me the first shot. How "honorable" of him."** Vladimo sneered the word "honorable", as if it were the most disgusting of curses. **"Hate to break this to ya, Fruitcake, but I am the furthest thing from an honorable man. This ain't gonna be no duel. You wanna bare your chest to me? Points for bravado, but that ain't gonna stop me from carving you like a christmas ham!"** That said, Vladimo had no further use for words. The gauntlet had been cast, the challenge accepted, and the only thing left to do was the bleeding.

Holding Zobens in his left hand, Vladimo raised the blade and then slashed it forward, targeting the Fruitcake's sternum, even as he stepped forward, putting his full bodyweight into the blow, he also lashed out with an uppercut with his right hand, aimed at the Fruitcake's chin. Hot red blood splattered thickly onto the dusty stones of the courtyard as the broadsword bit into the bared skin on display, even as Captain Zaraki was knocked a full step backwards, lips bloodying against his teeth, by the punch to his chin. Vladimo frowned and then smiled, his stroke held to little more than a long, half inch deep gash, barely more than a flesh wound, held at bay by the roiling spiritual force of his opponent. For his part, Kenpachi actually started to laugh with pleasure, spitting out a chipped tooth and a mouthful of bloody spit, as he glanced down at the several foot long incision on his chest, which was already scabbing over. "Not too bad, Pimp-Suit. Not too bad at all... MY TURN!" Zaraki howled, lifting his Zanpakuto, spiritual pressure flaring, yellow light pouring across his body as the very air grew denser around him. He brought his blade down in a simple vertical cut, aimed at ripping the Crusader right in half from crown to crotch.

Steel screamed as Vladimo brought Zobens up in a casual parry, and then hurriedly added his right hand to brace the blade as Zaraki's blow pressured him, his boots cracking the stone pavement as his legs shivered under the impact, blue and orange sparks flying like comets from where the two swords met. With both hands locked into holding back the sword strike, Vladimo had no way to block the backhanded punch Kenpachi leveled into his own jaw, twisting the Duke back and to the side, his luxurious black hat fluttering to the dusty ground, trickles of blood dribbling down his chin from his own split lips. Stumbling a half step backwards, Vladimo brought a gloved hand up to his chin and whiped the blood and spittle away, his grin never faltering for a moment. **"HELL YES, THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, FRUITCAKE! But let's stop pussyfooting around! Slice the foe, Zobens!"** Vladimo commanded joyfully, releasing his Ascension powers.

Many Arma Sancti granted their wielders access to bursts of flame or bolts of lightning or gusts of freezing wind, or changed the nature of their weapons, or allowed them to teleport or fly or any of a near infinite variety of special abilities. Zobens didn't do anything flashy like that. Just like his name, which "Sword", Zobens was a simple and direct Arma, much like his wielder. His Ascension form was that of a five foot long, several inch wide doubled edge, pointed blade, made of dark grey-black metal, both light and incredibly sharp and strong, with a two handed grip that allowed Vladimo to put his full strength and speed behind every blow and movement. He was faster, stronger and cuttier than before, and that was all the power he'd ever needed! He rushed at Kenpachi, shouting a howling war cry of equal parts pleasure and excitement.

Long, straight Arma met jagged toothed Zanpakuto a half a dozen times in the next three seconds, each blow sending out gusts of crashing wind and ringing sound, curtains of blue and orange sparks falling to melt tiny pits in the dust covered stone flags that made up the courtyard. Both men were of near equal size and mass, and as far as bloodthirst was concerned, well, that was anyone's guess. Catching the Zobens on his blade edge, Kenpachi shoved the blade to the side and punched out with his free hand, bruising Vladimo's left side, only to have the Crusader burrow in close, lifting his hilt up through Zaraki's guard and counterpunched him in the chin again with doubled fists backed by the hilt of the sword, like a double brass knuckle punch. Pinkish spittle flew from his lips, followed shortly thereafter by more blood as Vladimo twirled his blade around like a willow switch and laid open the top part of Kenpachi's left shoulder, just baely missing his head as the blade deflected off shouler bone. Instinctively lashing out with his sword hand, Kenpachi slit open Vladimo's tunic six inches above his waist, a thin line of hot blood spilling down the Crusader's pectorals to pool at his beltline, neither man stopping for even an instant to consider that one of them had almost been decapitated and the other nearly eviscerated in the same moment. They were both having too much fun for the thought of potential death to intrude.

Setting their feet, the two nigh berserkers went after each other like blacksmiths hammering iron, neither willing to flinch back, giving their all to offense, rips and gashes opening up in their clothing and skin as the skirl of steel on steel rang throughout the courtyard until it felt like a circular saw blade was biting into the skulls of everyone around them, such was the unceasing intensity of the sound. Even those in seated positions on both sides of the conflict could hardly follow the blurred exchange of blows, accentuated only by a shout or a uproarious chuckle from one combatant or the other as they landed a particularly hard blow, or found a particularly well struck strike deflected harmlessly. Blood, red and red, sprinkled the ground around the combatants, some droplets flying as far as twenty feet before striking the pavement, propelled by upward swings or piercing thrusts at near supersonic speeds.

Spotting an opening... not that such were uncommon in this fight, as both men focused on offense to the exclusion of almost everything else... Vladimo took one hand off his sword and swung for Kenpachi's waist and thighs, even as Kenpachi swung from the opposite side at Vladimo's neck and shoulders. Both men reacted in a flash, and with near simultaneous and identical movements, reaching out with their free hands and fearlessly grabbing hold of their opponent's sword blade, disregarding the welling blood from their laid open fingers and palms, they held each other's strikes at bay with pure willpower and brute strength, pushing forward until they were all but face to face, sneering and spitting at each other like a pair of wildcats, before slamming their heads together as if by mutual consent, both of them staggered and dazed by the skull on skull collision, their scalps bursting open at the point of contact, hot blood sheeting down both of their faces, causing them to take a step back and blink and swipe the blood from their eyes.

Kenpachi blinked in surprise as he cleared the blood from not only one eye, but both of them, his special eyepatch having been knocked loose by the impact of his head on the Duke's. "Aww, goddamnit, I didn't want it to end so soon..." He grumbled regretfully, making a not to kick Freak-face's ass until the 12th's Captain made a sturdier sling for his eyepatch... getting it accidentally knocked off all the time was fucking annoying! But now that the energy eating creatures were gone, there was no way for him to really control his spiritual energy, and it exploded from his body in all directions, a volcanic expression of pure strength, a towering column of yellow that stretched into the sky, marking him out to the whole Sereitei, as a lambent, ethereal, cackling skull took form immediately around him, gnashing and gnawing its teeth in excited warlust. "Shit, we're gonna have to rush this a little bit... spoilsports on the way..."

**"Well, that tears it..."** Vladimo muttered in reply, shielding his eyes from the explosion of spirit energy that the Fruitcake was emitting, now that his eyepatch, which must have been some sort of seal, had come off. The courtyard was empty around them now, their subordinates blown bodily away by the release of power. **"Guess there's no point in drawing things out any more. The Princess is gonna be PISSED! Oh well, I might as well go all out then. Shit, I was having fun too..."** Vladimo took his right hand off Zoben's released form and took a deep breath as he brought forth the Crusader's ultimate expression of military power, the Transcendence release. **"Zobens, Dice all who oppose me!"**

Again, Zobens was not a complicated or showy Arma, not even when released to the fullest extent. Besides just increasing his strength, speed and stamina by several more orders of magnitude, the only real change to the Arma was the fact that second, identical in every aspect to the first, sword appeared in Vladimo's right hand, so that he was now dual wielding Zobens. Blurring into motion, Vladimo shifted behind Kenpachi, bringing both swords around from the same direction, a double strike that slammed the parrying Shinigami backwards almost fifty feet, his feet not giving way, but the dirt and stone beneath them not quite so doughty. Blurring forward again, Vladimo launched an all out blitz, each sword constantly in motion, hammering and slicing and looping at Zaraki from seemingly six to eight directions at once. More bloody gashes, deeper and more freely bleeding than before, began opening up all over Kenpachi's body, the fact of his single sword making it impossible for him to parry all the attacks from a guy with two swords.

Suddenly throwing his arm out wide, Kenpachi deliberately stepped forward into one thrust, allowing the blade to slice cleanly through his entire lower abdomen, just above his left hip, clamping down on the blade where it entered his flesh with his free hand, as he knocked Vladimo's other blade away with a swipe of his sword and then brought the jagged blade down on through, cutting deeply into the shoulder of the Crusader, all but cutting him in half... or so it appeared, until the afterimage faded away and revealed the real Duke of Battle standing a few dozen feet away, one hand clamped to his mauled shoulder, which was cut, but not nearly severed. Kenpachi yanked the sword impaling his guts out of his body and hurled it back to his foe, who took his blood soaked glove away from his shoulder injury to catch it. Though they had barely been fighting for five minutes by this point in time, they were both breathing a bit heavily, each having been holding little if nothing back the entire time, such games not being in their nature.

Squaring off against each other once more, they both smirked, ignoring the blood flowing thickly down their bodies, the ache in their joints from parrying blows that could have cut a small mountain in half, the brief spell of lightheadedness that comes from losing so much blood so quickly... none of it mattered. Only winning mattered. Only being the last man standing mattered in the slightest. Flipping his swords around in his hands, so that the hilts were protruding from the top of his fists, and the long blades laying flat back along his forearms, Vladimo crossed his arms behind his back, one of his signature moves, allowing him to strike from both sides with bullwhip cracks of his arms, swinging so hard he usually dislocating at least one arm at shoulder or elbow in the process, but putting the maximum amount of cutting power into both swings. Across from him, Kenpachi grabbed the hilt of his sword with his second hand and lifted the sword carefully over his head. Time for the last attack...

There was no preamble, no prelude, no agreed upon signal... one moment all was stillness as each side measured the other for their ultimate offensive technique, the next, both men were in motion, footsteps churning up the shattered and brokens flagstones like they were wading through mud puddles, rather than solid ground. Dust and blood droplets alike seemed to freeze in midair, the entire Seretiei tensing up and holding its breath as the two opposing juggernauts of wanton conflict bore down upon each other with the combined power to crack open entire islands. Reached the half way point, Vladimo began to spin, his entire body and limbs rotating into the attack as he switched from swinging at either side to a double right side strike with the power to cut down a hundred Daemons in a single swing, just from the flying air pressure alone. This unstoppable force met the downswing of Kenpachi's impossibly strong two handed vertical swing, which had cleaved apart the Espada with the toughest Heiro like he was made of soft sand. The blades met with a screeching detonation of force that collapsed the entire frontal section of every building bordering the coutyard, a ten foot deep and hundred foot wide crater punching itself into the ground around and beneath them.

Both men had their arms go instantly numb under the force of the stymied attacks, three swords jarring right out of blood slicked hands and whirling across the courtyard in three different directions. Eyes widening with surprise, neither man let their shock at being deflected stop them from lifting fists in preparation for taking the fight to hand to hand. Both of them heard some tinny sounds in the distance, but with the blood pounding in their ears as it was, it was impossible to make out what it was exactly as they buried their fists into each other's chests, ribs popping and snapping on both sides as the grinned at each other through fleshy fright masks of blooded skin and chipped teeth. They began trading punches just as they'd traded sword blows, pounding each other relentless, both hurting, neither caring, equally determined to be the last man standing no matter what! This was no longer a battle, it had become a two way massacre, and the only thing that would determine the winner was who could take more pain!

Kicking Kenpachi in the ankle, Vladimo knocked the man off balance long enough to grab him by his belled hair, slamming his opponent's face down into a rising knee, feeling cheekbone crunch inwards with a satisfying SNAP of parting bone and cracking teeth._ FALL, DAMN YOU! FALL! FALL! FALL DOWN! I WON'T LOSE TO YOU SO FUCKING FALL ALREADY!_ Vladimo chanted in his mind, as he brought back his knee for another pounding strike, prepared to crush the Shingami's face into the back of his skull if he had to! However, the second knee strike was blocked, his leg yanked out from under him as Zaraki took the fight to the ground, half pinning Vladimo beneath him as he thundered punch after punch into his shoulder injury, each shivering strike threatening to not only dislocate the limb, but pulverize it entirely!

_This has got to be the most fun I've had since Ichigo..._ Kenpachi thought to himself. _Maybe even better than IchiHOOOOG!_ His train of thought was derailed as Vladimo brought a knee up into Kenpachi's groin, unabashedly targeting the balls and striking with enough force to splinter a solid oak doorway. Kenpachi Zaraki was about as tough as tough got, but even he couldn't entirely shrug off a knee to the balls from a Captain class Soul who'd been slugging it out with him toe to toe from swing one! He was distracted long enough for the black haired, green eyed Crusader to wriggle loose from beneath his pin, and then dived forward before he was even fully upright again, knocking them both to the ground once more, but this time with Zaraki on the bottom. Another headbutt dazed them both, as Vladimo began windmilling his fists into Kenpachi's battered face, all technique and training thrown to the wayside, only brutal instinct and mad fury fuelling them both now. They both heard those tinny voices again, somewhat clearer this time, but nothing of consequence surely...

Ignoring the punches that were rocking his head from side to side, Kenpachi reached up and laced his hands around Vladimo's throat, choking off the Crusader's air and simultaneously bucking upwards with his upper body, now caked with blood and dust from both of them, unseating the Duke as Kenpachi chokeslamed him onto his side in the bottom of the crater they'd made. Staggering upright, he lifted the Duke again, and chokeslammed him once more. Third time wasn't the charm though, as Vladimo made him eat another knee to the chin, splitting both knee and chin open in the impact and almost dislocating Kenpachi's jaw, forcing him to release the half strangled Duke in order to pop his facial bones back into their proper place. They smiled at each other, their clothes torn to shreds, theirs weapons lost in the distance, their blood more on the ground than in their veins, their bones as often fractured as not... they smiled at each other and began to chuckle. It wasn't often that either of them came across a truly kindred spirit, and in that moment, regardless of language barriers, both men fully understood the other. It was no harder that looking at themselves in the mirror, with a few cosmetic changes. Well, maybe more than a few, but in all important aspects, they might as well have been brothers.

Not that such a moment of kinship would at all stop them from continuing to tear each other apart until one or the other was nothing more than a quivering pile of unconscious meat. Utilizing a saved up burst of speed, Vladimo shifted behind Kenpachi and grabbed him by his hair once more, ripping an entire bell tipped spike right off the Shinigami's head as he pulled the other man backwards by the hair, kicking him in the back of his knees to steal his balance as he threw the man fifteen feet end over end, just narrowly missing striking another figure wearing a nearly immaculately clean white haori over black robes as she stood glaring at them, her long braid of hair whipping in the breeze of Zaraki's passing body. However, it wasn't this sight that brought even a half blood-drunk Vladimo to a halt, but rather the slighter, comelier woman that stood nearby the one with the braid, dressed in a gold and crimson and blue robe, instantly recognizable because of her impossibly long drapes of crimson red hair.

**"Princess..."** Vladimo acknowledged through split lips, broken teeth and enough blood to drown a kitten, which he then hawked and spat to the side.

"Aww, fuck, its you..." Kenpachi groused, as he climbed to his feet and found Captain Unohana of the 4th Division blocking his way back into the fight. Though he had never actually managed to pick a fight with Retsu, despite many years of trying, Kenpachi also knew that perhaps this wasn't entirely a bad thing. What was that thing about still waters running deeply? Well, no water in all the Soul Society was as still as Retsu Unohana could be, though at the moment she looked dangerously close to losing her much vaunted cool, her eyes all but alight with annoyance and reproach.

**"Words escape me, Duke Morieth. Entirely escape me. In almost two millenia, I have NEVER, EVER beheld such... such... such MORONIC, WILLFUL STUPIDITY as I am right now! Did I not specifically... SPECIFICALLY... decree that we were not to get into fights with these Shinigami? Were those not my EXACT WORDS? And yet, what do I find you doing, in such a manner that you have disrupted events throughout this ENTIRE CITY?"** Lacus was trying to be calm, she really was, but with Mal letting loose the Fey-Goats and now this, she was really, dangerously close to completely losing her temper for the first time in more than a decade! She didn't like to make a big deal of her position and authority, but she DID expect her few decrees to be respected, when she bothered to make them. **"I really should have you stripped of your rank and sent back to the Imperium in chains and disgrace, you know this, right, Duke Morieth?"**

"I expected better of you, Kenpachi." Retsu said simply, letting tone of voice and past experiences speak more eloquently than any shouted tirade, which she knew would just roll off his shoudlers like a bucket of cold water. "We took a man out of Zaraki... but apparently we haven't yet been able to take the Zaraki out of the man. Brawling with one of our honored guests like a bloodthirsty thug." Retsu shook her head in quiet despair. "I don't care who started it, I took you to have common sense, if not exactly restraint. Are you that fond of conflict that you want to start a war involving everyone, not just the 11th Division? Is that what you want, Captain Zaraki?"

**"Then do it, your Highness. You know better than to expect me to apologize. For what its worth, I don't think he's gonna be pressing charges against me. These shinigami aren't nearly as much of pushovers as I thought they were. They might even make good allies, if the Fruitcake is any example of their officers."** Vladimo replied, with a hint of truculence in his tone. Yes, he had disobeyed what amounted to a direct order, but he wasn't exactly known for his law abiding nature, and it wasn't like he'd killed anyone. He traded a glance with Kenpachi, both men rolling their eyes at the unwanted and unneeded interruption.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill, Retsu." Kenpachi groused, whiping a fresh tide of blood from his laid open scalp out of his eyes. "We were just havin some fun with each other... it's not like he's gonna go crying to his momma or anything. For smarmy bastard, Pimp-Suit ain't such a bad guy after all. If all their Dukes are half as tough as he is, the last thing I would want to do would be start a war with them. I'm bloodthirsty, not stupid."

**"Were we back home, were we not in pursuit of an extremely critical mission against an extremely powerful and dangerous foe, you would be dismissed and disgraced, Morieth! Make no mistake of that. And I will be bringing this insubordination up to my Father when we return home, do not doubt that. It pains me to do so, especially given your "condition" and the likely assumptions that will be drawn. I will likely be signing your very death warrant, as my Father is certainly not in the mood to forgive further infractions of rebellion against the Royal Family, no matter how slight. But you have brought this on yourself. I hope this brawl was worth it to you..."** Lacus turned around and began stalking away, grinding her teeth loudly enough to be heard, her hair bearing attendants scrambling after her, eyes wide and postures hunched as if in fear of deflected wrath. **"And for God's sake, clean yourself up! You're a disgrace to every Crusader here, looking like that."**

"That remains to be decided. Captain-General Yamamoto is LIVID, Kenpachi. Absolutely livid. If you try, once I fix your twice broken nose, you might even be able to smell the smoke from the rafters of 1st division that he unintentionally ignited with his reiatsu upon discovering what you were doing here. You'll be lucky if they don't send you to the Maggot's Nest. He might even press the Central 46 to have you banished or executed. It would be within his rights to ask for such things. I don't believe you truly understand how serious your situation is right now." Retsu continued her lecture, even as her hands began glowing with the light green energy of healing Kidou.

**"As you say, your Highness..."** Vladimo replied with a stiff bow that ahd more to do with his physical state than his emotional contrition. _Was the brawl worth it? Of course it was! I haven't had that much fun in ages! I can't wait to do this again..._

"Yeah, yeah... I'll deal with the old man somehow..." Kenpachi shrugged, trading another glance with the green eyed Crusader Duke. _Until next time, Pimp-Suit. And I won't go easy on you again either..._


	9. Your Spies, My Playmates

xxxx

**Soul Society, Sereitei, January 14th, Midafternoon**

After centuries of living a life of secrecy, stealth and subtlety, feigning ignorance and obtuseness wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do. In his own way, Mal was a determinedly honest man, who called things exactly as he saw them and was not accustomed to turning a blind eye to anything. Indeed, it was a fundamental provision of his duty to NEVER turn a blind eye to anything, to never ignore any sort of failure, whether it be a deficiency of physical strength, moral certitude or intellectual fortitude. That was the overriding proviso of the office of the Duke of Shadows... he was the watcher of the watchers, the eyes in shadows of the night that saw all acts of pettiness, corruption and personal weakness. It wasn't necessarily his position to judge what he saw, especially as regarded to the actions of his fellow Crusaders, that was more in the line of the Duke of Order, but it was his job to collect the evidence, witness the abuse of power, and report it to the proper authorities. And sometimes, if justifable, take pre-emptive action to correct a particularly deviant person. The shadows could hold poisoned blades as easily as watching eyes and listening ears after all. People were afraid of the night for a reason. Mal and his troops were one of those reasons.

All the same, it was another proviso of his duty, and one that was personally dear to him, to be flexible and adaptable, ready to serve in whatever capacity was best suited to the problems at hand, rather than being bound by a iron clad code of conduct or rulebook. Sometimes this meant coming in with a heavy hand, knives in one fist, whips in the other, to scare people back into the proper attitude. Other times a gentler touch was needed, a velvet glove concealing a poisoned needle for the recalitrant or unsubmissive. Sometimes one had to smile in the face of humiliation so that one might later smirk in victory over a bloodied and confused corpse. Sometimes it meant negotiating when he would prefer to utilize swords, and sometimes it meant using swords when he would prefer words. Sometimes it meant wilfully ignoring the well meaning dictates of his own superiors, in order to accomplish a greater goal. Better to need to beg forgiveness than ask for permission for doing what must be done but was usually distasteful to others. Indeed, it was better to act on his own initative sometimes. Censure might be handed down, punitive measures taken, but better that he suffer than those who were truly important. Better he be hung out to dry than shame or dishonor be brought onto the Crusaders as a whole. That too, was the duty of the Duke of Shadows.

And so he had deployed the Fey in their animal guises without informing the Princess, knowing that she would be annoyed with him if not outright angry when she found out. But if things did somehow backfire, the fact that she had not been involved in his decision would, at worst, just embarass her with the Shinigami thinking she could not control her own subordinates. A public punishment of some sort and open contrition on his part would assuage that embarassment quickly enough though. There was always the possibility that his head might actually roll for his insubordination but if a man worried about the time and manner of his death while in this profession, he would never be able to fufill his assigned duties. Which, at the moment, included finding out as much information about these Shinigami as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. Let the Princess find out through her negotiations what the Shinigami were willing to tell them... it was Mal's job to find out what the Shinigami weren't willing to tell them, and consider how best to use that to support the goals of the Princess.

To that end, both he and his best... and maybe only true... friend Vladimo had decided that if sacrificing their own honor or even lives was the sacrifice required to help the Princess create this worthy and long lasting alliance with the Shinigami that was her goal, then such a price was worth paying. Pay two Dukes, already damaged goods in the eyes of many back home, in return for a military ally with almost a dozen Duke class fighters and no war to prevent them from sending them to the aid of the Imperium? That was a fair trade indeed! And so Vladimo had gone to test out the strength of the Shinigami Duke of Battle, or whatever the equivalent was... the 11th Division Captain. Only if the man could impress Vladimo would they be able to confidently support the Princess's goals of peace with these people. There was no point in saddling themselves with an alliance with a weak ally after all.

And so Mal was testing out his own counterpart amongst these Shinigami people, the Captain of the 2nd Division, who was also apparently commander in chief of a special assassination or covert operations squadron as well. Regardless of their strength in open battle, if the Shinigami were nothing more than sword swinging barbarians with no appreciation for subtlety or a cognitive approach to gaining combat advantage against their enemies, he could hardly give his own blessing for any alliance to come. Brute force had its place, but the Daemon's were far too numerous in their hordes for any pure force approach to work against them. The Crusaders and any allies they might gain had to not only fight hard, but they had to fight smart as well. And it was impossible to be smart in a military capacity without a capable intelligence and stealth recon force feeding information back to front line commanders and striking hard where the enemy was weak, disrupting reinforcement columns, destroying seige gear behind enemy lines or assassinating enemy commanders and elites before they could affect the battlefield.

And so Mal was going against his nature and training, and walking openly without an escort, pretending to be furtive as he flitted about the Sereitei in a simply awful parody of stealth designed to draw plenty of attention to himself from those with the duty to observe the suspicious. He had picked up several tails already, and was doing his best to observe their movements and skills out of the corners of his eyes as he continued to loiter about in places that were obviously suspcious, such as the roofs of buildings, or in half hidden alleyways near the entrances to Divisional compounds where he could ostensibly observe the comings and goings of the Shinigami. It was a hideous farce, and were he back home he would have been caught out in a matter of minutes by even the most obtuse of watchers, but with the cultural barriers and natural arrogance of any people dealing with foreigners on their home turf, he was confident that those spying on him would not realize he was baiting them.

Not until it was too late anyway. Because while as interesting and instuctive as it was to observe the rank and file observers and spies that were doing their best to see without being seen, they weren't the ones whom he was really interested in. You could learn a lot about an organization and its leader by looking at how its rank and file members were trained and how they operated in a non-practice environment, but indirect extrapolation was never preferrable to personal encounters and observation of that leader yourself. But any good leader of a stealth recon force would be far too busy with other concerns to immediately come to pursue such a relatively low level threat as he appeared to be, when that job could easily be left to trusted subordinates instead. It was only if and when those subordinates could no longer effectively trail and contain the "threat" that the master herself would come out to play. It was just a fact of life of being such a leader... no matter how much you might want to investigate everything yourself, you simply had too many demands on your time to not delegate most of the drudge work whenever possible.

They moved well, these black clad spies did, keeping out of sight of all but the most trained or experienced observers even though their garments did little to help them blend in with the predominantly white, grey and brown colors of the city buildings. And obviously they were all deeply familiar with their surroundings, and how best to use each angle of each building, each tiny little shadow or ornamental plant, to obfuscate their movements and cloak their presence from their target. They were exceptional at the deceptively hard task of remaining perfectly still while in cover, no matter how awkward that position might be for them, and their speed was also exceptional, in their ability to catch up to him in a matter of seconds whenever he shifted positions. Their best skill, however, as far as Mal was concerned, was their ability to hide their spiritual pressure, which was near absolute. He made a mental note to find out what sort of mental or physical discipline they employed in order to achieve such a result, so that he might copy it and teach it to his own subordinates.

However, he was not overly impressed with their ability to actually "blend" into their surroundings in a natural fashion. Their uniforms actually completely precluded it, which was why his own spies did not have any set uniforms, but rather wore whatever clothing that was normal in whatever area they were assigned, so that they could better blend in to the crowds, observing while in plain sight of their targets without the target ever even noticing. Nor was he all that impressed with their degree of individual initiative, which is to say, they seemed to have none at all. Quite how recon forces could be expected to operate behind enemy lines, detached from any regular communication with superiors, without displaying any individual initiative or creativity in interpreting their orders with regards to the changing combat situation, Mal did not know. These people watched him because they were ordered to do so, not because his actions were in themselves interesting to them, and so they weren't likely to react as well or fluidly to things that changed the parameters of their observations, such as if he entered an area where stealthy observation was impossible, such as a wide open courtyard or if he did something truly unexpected, like disappearing or leaving the city on the sly. They would be paralyzed for a critical few moments or even longer as they had to consult with superiors to find out what to do next.

They were talented, but they were too focused, that was their problem. They did not adapt well to changing circumstances or having to make high level judgement calls. Evidence of a too tight grip on operations by the upper echelons of command? Or was micro-management of combat squads a norm in this culture? And they were too hidebound in their tactics, too oriented upon remaining unseen and unheard to consider that sometimes the easiest way to pass unnoticed is to be in plain sight, just as part of an accepted and expected background. All it would take would be procuring some military robs and aping the emblems or mannerisms of whatever division he was currently observing, and he'd never be able to tell the difference between regular soldiers and recon members, certainly not any time soon. And if their own side could easily determine the difference, then that was a failing of the spies. Before one could ever hope to consistently decieve an enemy, one had to learn how to consistently decieve one's allies...

Leaving off his observations of the 4th Division's gateway, Mal stepped around the nearest street corner, using the low perimeter wall to momentarily break line of sight to his position from those of his watchers. It would only be a second before they shifted and reaquired him, but a second was an eternity in his line of work. Sloppy positioning on their part, because of their very reliance on remaining hidden, and the relative openness of this section of the city, the only good places to watch him and remain hidden were located within the 4th Division itself, amongst its taller outbuildings. Stroking the hilt of his Arma Sancti, Mercurius, Mal smiled, baring his unwanted but not entirely unuseful shark-like fangs, legacy of the unwilling release of his Inner Daemon by that blasted Vandire. **"Adapt to all circumstances, Mercurius."** Mal crooned, shucking out of his coat even as his Arma morphed and transformed itself into a caricature dummy of himself, upon which the distinctive black coat draped.

The deception was a frail one... anyone within even a dozen feet would be able to tell it was an artifical mannequin under the coat... but these watchers never got closer than fifty feet, because otherwise they couldn't remaining hidden from him. Even as he released his Arma, Mal silently incanted a Prayer to the Rex Divinia, asking for his protection from the covetous eyes of his foes, Prayer 55, "Translucence", which turned both his body and his possessions all but invisible, allowing light to pass through him for a brief time. Translucence did not last long, as maintaining it for more than a few seconds was extremely draining, but he didn't need long, as he shift-stepped away, circling around behind his watchers, dropping the invisibility effect as soon as he was once more out of their line of sight, as they settled in to watch "him" once more.

The hard part accomplished, it was matter of only a few moments work to sneak up upon one of the black clad spies, who in his arrogance gave no thought to the possibility that he might be snuck upon within his own city by someone whom he had in "plain view". Too trusting of their eyes, these Shinigami were. It was as Flaya had said... they saw, but they didn't understand what it was that they saw! Perception without understanding was worse than no perception at all, for it led to assumptions, and assumptions were deadly in this line of work. They assumed that because he had been moving slowly about for the past few hours, seemingly unaware of their presence, and had made no other attempts at real deception, that he wasn't capable of such things. This was why Mal did his best to drill... literally if need be... the idea of "never assume anything other than that your foe is better than you..." into his soldiers. Treating every enemy as if they were smarter, faster, tougher and more powerful than you were, even if it was patently not the case, was the only way to ensure you never let laxity, that worthless corruption, take root in your soul!

Grabbing the shaven headed spy from behind, Mal lifted the smaller man up into the air to deny him leverage and prevent him from kicking loose a roof tile or some other noise to alert his comrades, his right forearm pressing against the ninja's throat to cut off his air and his voice, as well as blood flow to the brain, while his left arm pinioned the man's arms to his sides. An alert man might be able to twist or kick his way free of the tight but not particularly strong hold, but taken by surprise from behind, the spy was already half unconscious before he even realized he was under attack. A few flops and twitches later and the lack of air and blood flow put him out like a snuffed candle. A minute or two of rinsing and repeating this strategy and Mal soon had an even half dozen hostages and no more "hidden" observers. He wondered how long it might be before the spies' superior noticed that their watch team was incommunicado. But while that would be an instructive thing to learn, he was more interested in playing with the big fish, rather than amusing himself with these well meaning but inadequate minnows.

Doubling back to recollect his coat and Arma, resealing his weapon, Mal improvised some bindings by tearing the black clothing of the spies into strips, which he then braided into ropes, hogtying their arms and legs tightly together behin their back, making sure the bindings were all but cutting off circulation entirely... silk cloth was a very strong, hard to tear material, especially braided like he'd done it, but it was also a slick material, and easily to wriggle out of if the bindings weren't uncommonly tight. Inverting and upending their pull up facial coverings gave him functional blindfolds, and extra lengths of braided robe allowed him to tie them all together into an easily transportable lump of mostly naked, entirely helpless Souls. As far as personal humiliations went, for a recon force member, this was probably worse than death. Though if their commander was anything like Mal was, they'd be lucky if death didn't soon come upon them anyway, for so embarassing themselves and by extension the commander and the entire unit as well. Well, that was their problem, not his, Mal thought, as he deposited his hostage bundle around the corner from the 2nd Division main gate, where they would be easily found by any roving patrols worth the name.

The addition of a hand drawn pictographic message addressed to the toothsome female captain with the braids completed his taunt-invitation, and Mal shift-stepped away with a satisified smile to wait. The day was about to get so much more fun and entertaining...

xxxx

**2nd Division Compound, Offices of the Divisional Commander**

"That better be you, Omaeda! Lunch is two hours past and my office is suspiciously GOAT FREE!" Soi Fon hissed with poisonous cool as a timid knock sounded on the sliding panels of her office door. After leaving matters related to the creature's apprehension to her lieutenant that morning, Soi Fon had been doing her best to distract herself with other matters, including reports of other suspicious looking goats running rampart throughout many other Divisions of the Gotei 13, which only confirmed her suspicion that they were no simple animals, or at least not only simple animals, but also a cunning and well used intelligence gathering apparatus of some sort. Quite how any information the goats collected would be transmitted to their Crusader handlers, Soi Fon did not yet understand, but she had confidence that she would figure it out sooner or later. She always did, after all.

There were only a few problems that she had not been able to find the answers to despite her best efforts. One of those problems was the reasoning behind Yourichi-sama's seeming deep friendship or even... "hiss"... infatuation with Kisuke Urahara that had prompted her to abandon not only Soi Fon, but also all of her connections with her own noble clan and the Gotei 13 a century ago. Despite many attempts in those long ago days, Soi Fon had never actually caught Urahara in a compromised position with Yourichi-sama, and she had no actual proof that their relationship was anything but platonic. But her gut feeling wouldn't leave her alone about it, and she just knew that there was more to their relationship than she could ever prove. Another one of those problems was trying to figure exactly when Aizen had gone bad and turned from an asset to the Soul Society into its greatest threat. She still couldn't make heads or tails of that one, and that, more than just about anything, frightened her. How the hell was she supposed to prevent it from happening again in the future if she couldn't figure out how, when or why it had happened in the past?

Her office door slid open, and it did her temper no particular good to see that Omaeda was suspiciously absent from the hallway, as was the crimson and black furred goat that was apparently still terrorizing her compound unchecked. Perhaps sensing his Captain's mood, the Special Forces ninja that had come calling was kneeling submissively in the hall, head all but bowed to touch the floor. "I am afraid that the Vice-Captain has not yet returned from the training grounds, Captain Fon." The ninja reported, fighting down his nervousness.

"Then why the hell are you bothering me? Are you that eager to die, that you'd come here to just to make excuses for that fat slob?" Soi Fon demanded, her anger almost subsumed by her curiosity. Her subordinates had to know what sort of mood she was in, if they didn't then they didn't deserve to be her subordinates, and she did have a reputation for killing the messenger, so to speak. What could prompt this man to come knocking upon her door without good news to report? "Well...?" She prompted, as the man took a moment to find his tongue again.

"I... I don't how to say this, Captain, but there has been something of an... an incident..." The ninja replied, his mouth as dry as a salt pit.

"An incident." Soi Fon repeated, her voice like steel being drawn across a whetstone, whispery but sharp enough to cut to the bone. "How delightfully unspecific. Are we playing twenty questions now? Should I ask whether this incident involves animals, vegetables or minerals? Is that what you want me to do?" Soi Fon took a single step out from behind her desk, fingers tapping Suzumebachi's helt in a controlled but rapid rythym. "Or are you going to tell me some details before I sift them from your brain with my own FINGERS?"

"That won't be necessary, Captain." The ninja replied quickly, knowing that when dealing with his Captain, the more sarcastic she got, the closer she was to bloodily murdering you. He hurried on before he could lose his nerve, which would probably be shortly followed by his head. "The outer perimeter patrol reported in a few moments ago. A demi-squad of our recon operatives was found stashed just outside the divisional compound walls, stripped naked, blindfolded and hogtied with their own robes. It was the demi-squad assigned to tailing the Crusader Duke of Shadows, Captain. I regret to inform you that no one saw the demi-squad being deposited, and all of them have been rendered unconscious for some time, so we do not know how long the Duke has been unobserved or where he currently is. The only clue we currently possess is this note, which was left with the demi-squad." The ninja kept his head bowed but proferred a folded sheet of paper to his Captain.

For her part, Soi Fon wasn't sure whether she was going to take the note, or the note and the entire hand and arm it was held in, her entire body deathly still but trembling on the inside with a buildup of frustrated, embarassed and furious emotion that had no name. Moving her non-weapon hand with what felt like glacial slowness, she plucked the folded sheet of paper from her subordinate's hand, the knuckles of her other hand white around Suzumebachi's hilt, the blade clattering against her sheathe interior from the effort involved in keeping her sword undrawn. The sheet of paper had been sealed with some form of wax, blood red in color and impressed with some sort of seal she wasn't familiar with, a human skull with two daggers for fangs and some sort of crown emblem on its brow, no doubt the symbol of the Duke of Shadows. The seal had been slit open, the message already already perused by at least one subordinate. "So now they can write our language? What does it say?" She asked, lips tight against her teeth.

"No, Captain, it's not in Japanese." The ninja replied, and then bit his lip again as he recalled what form the note took exactly. "It... it appears... to be some sort of, uhm, comic or pictorial presentation addressed to you personally." Sweat ran freely down his face and began soaking into his half mask, and his hands creaked against the floorboards as his shoulder muscles tensed, as if in anticipation of a blow. "As for the content of the message.. well... uhm... you see... its, uhm..." He stammered, swallowing heavily. How was he going to say this without being summarily killed in the very next moment?

"So you could tell that it was addressed to me personally, but you can't tell me what it said?" Soi Fon challenged, her voice dripping scorn like acid as she watched the man practically have a nervous breakdown right there in the hall. She understood that it was a taunt, and that he didn't want to tell her because he was afraid of how she would react, but really, she'd been taunted before... Yourichi-sama used to tease her all the time back in the day, and Urahara's very existence was a taunt as far as she was concerned. How bad could some mangled comic presentation from a foreigner possibly be...? Glaring at her sputtering subordinate, Soi Fon irritably flicked the folded paper open and glanced at its contents.

The moment he saw his Captain's eyes go wide as saucers and her face flush pink, the ninja made peace with his gods, for he suspected his end was nigh. In a way though, he was content, because at least he'd gotten to see the content of that message before he died. No one, not even the most cavalier and rebellious of the 2nd Squad or Secret Remote group, would have ever dreamed of putting such images as those down on paper, much less in such intricate and clearly knowledgable detail, regardless of how many times they would joke and smirk with private longing about such things when they were far, far away from the Sereitei and their Captain. It wasn't uncommon for female Captains or officers to be targets of their male subordinates lustful thoughts after all, though when it came to people like Captain Fon, you could never let them find out about it.

The ninja came back to the here and now as he heard his Captain's teeth begin grinding together so loudly he was sure some of them were about to break, her body still deathly even as her spiritual pressure flooded out around her in thick waves, so dense that he was glad he was already kneeling on the ground, because otherwise he would have been pushed over by the power she was releasing. She seemed unable to stop staring that the pictures in the message, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in breath like a bellows fueling a furnance. He had never, even from a distance, seen his Captain this angry before... and unless he was much mistaken, the flush on her cheeks also had some embarassment mixed in, though to bring it up would be to die that instant. It was said that a picture was worth a thousand words, but if that was the case, then that message contained almost twenty thousand words that could never be spoken of in the presence of those below the age of twenty! Obscene didn't even begin to cover some of those images, all of which involved a very accurate and well proportioned drawing of Captain Fon enthusiastically involved in gratiutous sexual acts with a character that was clearly the Duke of Shadows, judging by the coat and hair.

The ninja considered himself a worldly and experienced man, but he didn't even have names for half of the positions or depicted acts in that message! The pictures had seared themselves into his brain and he couldn't get them out... wasn't even sure if he wanted to. The anatomical detail of the drawings was incredible, worthy of a storied artist. And the positions themselves were conveyed with the deranged precision of a man for whom the term "degenerate" had clearly lost all negative meaning. Especially exciting and simultaneously frightening was the attention to detail given to the Captain's facial expressions in the images, which were of course nothing like anyone had ever seen her make, but most of them had liked to imagine she was capable of making. The cartoon Soi Fon was clearly willingly undertaking these acts of degradation, submission and degeneracy, yet she still retained that prideful and arrogant cast to her face that was the dominant impression of Captain Fon most people tended to take away after meeting her. It wasn't so much a caricature of her as it was a suggestion of how she might really be in private under that kind of stimulus! And though he was doing his damndest not to think about it, for the sake of his own sanity, the flush of embarassment on her cheeks seemed to indicate that maybe some of those suggestions weren't entirely off the mark...

The crinkling of paper as Soin Fon crushed the obscene, taunting message in her fist sounded like the shattering of a glacier in the tension filled office. With a bestial snarl ripping across her lips, Soi Fon hurled the offending piece of paper across the room, hard enough to have sent it through a wall were it not just a ball of paper. Her mind was curiously blank, even as her body shivered with the erupting emotions within, and her eyes had the calm cast of someone who can see death yet welcome's it presence at her side, as she turned to look at the quivering ninja kneeling in her doorway. She really ought to slice his eyes from his head, and his tongue from his mouth this very instant, as it was clear from his posture that he was the one who had perused the message before her. The thought of anyone knowing about such filth in regards to her, even if none of it was truthful, was almost more than she could bear. But, but, a small part of her mind reminded her, if she lashed out now, no matter how good it would make her feel in the short term, in the long term, if her subordinates were afraid to share bad news with her, it would only be to her detriment.

"Did you show that note to anyone else, anyone else at all?" She asked her minion, her voice taut, ready to draw her sword and remove his head from his shoulders should he answer in the affirmative.

"N-NO, Captain! I would never..." He started to protest.

"You had best hope not. Take that note and burn it. If you at all value your life, you will forget it and its contents ever existed. If I hear even a whisper of a rumor involving anything contained within that note, you can be sure that I will inflict upon you a death that will be talked about with terror for a millenium at the very least. Once you have destroyed the note, you and that demi-squad of UTTER FOOLS will report to my personal training chamber and wait there for my return. Clearly your training has been deficient and as your commanding officer, I am taking it upon myself to PERSONALLY correct these problems before they grow any worse. You might also want to place 4th Division on short notice... they're going to need some trauma physicians to be available in the near future..." Soi Fon ordered, congratulating herself for her own lenient nature, even as the ninja whimpered, just once, just a little, at the thought of what personal training from Captain Fon would entail.

"I'm going out for a bit." She added, a predatory smile spreading across her face, like a blade being drawn from its scabbard. "Tell Omaeda that if he doesn't have that goat in hand by the time I return, that he will be better off committing seppuku with a rusty garden trowel than returning to my office in failure. And if I even think I see you thinking about what you saw in that message, I will emasculate you then and there."

"Yes, Captain..." The ninja said abjectly, but by that point in time he was speaking to an empty room, as Captain Fon had already flash stepped away. He could almost pity that bastard of a Crusader...

xxxx

**Sereitei, Southwestern Wall Ramparts**

Mal leant indolently upon the chest high barricade of whitewashed stone that topped the city's defensive wall and stared out into the distance, looking over the crowded shanty-towns of wood and some little stone that crowded around the capital city on all sides. Well, perhaps shanty towns was selling them a little short, many of the buildings were multiple stories and looked both old and well cared for, clearly the abodes of those with wealth or status. But even the tallest such buildings didn't rise more than half the height of the inner city wall, though they did often crowd to within only ten or twenty feet of the wall in spots. Such places would make perfect attack points, where beseiging troops could get to within a stone's throw of the wall without exposing themselves to ranged fire from the defenders on the wall top. Another example of poor discipline brought on by a surfeit of peace and prosperity... such a hazard would never be allowed to develop near the walls of any fortress in the Imperium. A hundred foot wide free fire zone was the minimum, and many fortresses enforced far more stringent measures upon their attendant serf-towns.

He tapped his foot speculatively upon the walltop itself, trying to get a feel for the material, which was similar to the ganites and marbles that were used in some construction back home, yet also subtly different. It was very dense and solid material, so dense in fact that it seemed to even draw extra spirit energy out of the air into itself in order to make itself stronger, an interesting passive effect that might be of benefit to try and replicate. True, most Daemon armies did not bother with intensive magical bombardments during their attacks, instead relying on brute strength and numbers, but there were rare exceptions, and imbuing the walls of a fortress with the ability to negate magic based attacks was no bad thing. The buzzing pressure of the invisible field barrier that extended upwards, and presumably downwards, from the walltop was also interesting, though probably not something that the Imperium would seek to replicate.

He understood the logic behind it... it would take something with near Duke-like spiritual pressure to penetrate the field without being vaporized by the energy currents that made it up, or else a very large physical object, such as a siege ballista bolt or trebuchet stone, so it was an effective means of keeping most intruders out. However, the field functioned both ways, like a glass bowl, keeping defenders... and their attacks... in as well as attackers out. What good was a barrier if you could not proactively defend it? No defense could stand against concentrated attack forever, and walls or barriers alone could only slow down an invader, not stop them entirely. And unless he'd really missed something, the only unshielded ways out of the Sereitei were the four main gates. So all an attacker had to do was invest those four points with heavy forces and the defenders would be bottled up and unable to effectively retaliate or sortie against the besieging forces, trapped within their own citadel, which was no advantageous position to be in. The materials engineering of the Shinigami was exceptional... their use of their materials not so much.

The spiritual draining properties of the wall stone was just enough to help him cloak his presence from easy detection, even as he was hovering just below the level of releasing into Ascension mode. He wondered if the toothsome Captain had gotten his note yet, and if so, how long it would take her to track him down? He hoped he'd made the correct assumption regarding her temperment, that she wouldn't be able to let such a provocation as that lie, no matter that her common sense would tell her that provoking her anger was the very purpose of the note. Mal felt his lips stetch into another shark like grin, as he wondered if perhaps she might not be so much angry as she was just surprised? No doubt it had been a long time since anyone had dared be so bold with her, despite her youthful age... she couldn't be much more than three hundred, at the most. Well, angry or wrong footed or shocked, it didn't really matter to him... he just wanted her off balance a bit, wanted to provoke a reaction from the woman inside the Captain, to start her dancing to his tunes as soon as possible. As long as she was the one who was always reacting to what he did, he would always have the advantage over her.

The sigh of displacing air from behind him brought Mal's head around as he straightened to his full height, towering over the slim and svelte female Captain as she appeared a few feet away, his shadow almost reaching her as she glared at him with an expression of wary fury. With the language barrier hanging between them, there was little point in either side making accusations or taunts, at least verbally. Mal let his easy, open smile, carefully keeping lips over his fangs, do the talking for him as he blatantly looked her up and down with appraising eyes. Yes, she was indeed short, as short as a teenager, and built on a small frame, but he liked that, preferring his women to be girlish in figure rather than buxom or brawny. The tension in her muscles, the tautness of her stance, the glitter of malice in her eyes... all of these things excited and intruiged him. It had been many decades since he'd last had such a strong reaction to a woman as this. He couldn't wait to dominate her and make her his own...

For her part, Soi Fon was inwardly berating herself for allowing herself to be so obviously baited and called as this, the looseness of the Duke's muscles and his indolent posture all but screaming the fact that he'd been expecting her, indeed, was even pleased that she'd met his expectations, like a tutor proud of a particularly apt student. She itched to wipe that condescending expression off his face with the edge of her Zanpakuto, but forced herself to hold back. She was agitated and tense, twitchy and off balance, while he was as calm as a pond on a windless day. He wanted her to attack him, he was waiting for it, he was ready. Furthermore, if she were to draw her weapon first, that would automatically put her in the wrong, as he had not actually done anything illegal, unless she wanted to admit publicly that she was having their guests spied upon. Yes, everyone KNEW she was, but knowing it and admitting it were very different things...

The appraising and even admiring looks he gave her did nothing to lower her blood pressure, and the arrogant smirk he had threatened to make steam explode from her pores, the expression just dripped with condescension, like she was some puppet dancing to the motions of his fingers. Well, let him think that, but even if he had been expecting her to come, that didn't mean that her coming was exactly what he expected it to be. Reigning in her temper, Soi Fon returned his superior smirk with one of her own, crossing her arms across her chest as she eyed him right back, with the same sort of intensity that he was attempting to levy upon her. It was obvious, both from his looks now and the content of that message, that he was interested in her in a sexual manner. Normally such a thought would put her in an ugly mood, and in fact it already had, but now she was calming down enough to think a bit more rationally about it all, and about possible silver linings.

While working her way up through the ranks of the Assassination squad, Soi Fon had frequently been forced to deal with insufferable males thinking that their prowess, such as it was, should be enticing to her, to the point where she would share their bed. Much of this harassment had died off after she was taken in as Yourichi-sama's protege, but it never completely went away, not until she became the 2nd Division Captain anyway. Nowadays, if anyone had lewd thoughts about her, they did well to keep them to themselves, as she had both the power and the positional authority to make life a living hell for them if she felt the need to. It had been almost a century since she'd had to deal with unwanted male attention of any real sort, besides the idle musings of those stupid enough to think she couldn't hear them, which perhaps accounted for her strong reaction to that taunting and filthy note. But perhaps this wasn't entirely a bad thing, if this Duke of Shadows was infatuated with her. Soi Fon often ordered female members of her Division to utilize seduction in order to gather information, but she'd never actually had to exercise that skill set herself... especially against someone who was a professional peer. The challenge of it appealed, in a somewhat disconcerting way.

Of course, assuming she was willing to indulge this aberrant whim, she couldn't just come onto him, not after showing up so visibly angered by his provocation. She'd underestimated him once already, by assigned such a squad of fools to observe him, and he'd rubbed her face in her foolishness in no uncertain manner. Treating him like an idiot just because he was a giant, lanky foreigner, would be quite stupid. It was time to let go of her habitual arrogance and approach this problem in a more professional manner. Certainly, he wasn't entirely unattractive, even if some aspects of his personality and facial expressions did remind her or Urahara in some ways, and it was plain he possessed both physical skills and mental ability of no small order. Judging his age was difficult, but she doubted he was any younger than she herself was, though she was one of the younger Captains, she was just mature beyond her years, unlike Hitsugaya or Zaraki. He plainly had a perverted mind to equal Urahara's as well, and Soi Fon had to fight down a blush as her mind recalled his pictorial suggestions or taunts. He was certainly a talented artist, though his subject matter was utterly reprehensible. He was crazier that Korutsuchi if he thought he'd get her to do ANY of that stuff, but perhaps a physical relationship wasn't entirely impossible...

Certainly it would allow her a chance to learn not only the Crusader's language but also details about their culture and mannerisms and customs at an enhanced rate. Of course, there was the risk that he would learn from her as well, so she would have to be smart and cautious about things, but he was the infatuated one, not her, so that gave her the advantage. He would be more interested in her body than her mind, and while she distracted him with physical pleasure, she would be free to observe and analyze with her razor sharp mind. And, if it came to it, sharing a bed with him would make him much easier to dispose of in a convenient manner, without having to fight him on the field of battle. Not that she didn't think she could beat him, but why not be expedient about things? Yes, now that would be an accomplishment to be proud of, something to lay at Yourichi-sama's feet that she almost certainly could not say she had already achieved before! The seduction, subversion and subtle manipulation of an "enemy" Captain-class being for not only the benefit of the Soul Society, but her own personal amusement and benefit as well!

Perhaps this Captain thought herself to be impenetrable, her thoughts locked behind a wall of her face, but Mal could all but see the gears turning in her head. She was skilled, this one, talented beyond all doubt. She would have to be, to be given such a position at such a relatively young age. But she was also clearly not nearly as experienced as she thought she was, especially operating in situations beyond her personal comfort zone. She'd come angry, but now she was more analytical, obviously considering the pros and cons of accepting his implict proposition. She could not have declared her intentions to seduce him any louder if she'd disrobed right then and there, even if she herself did not immediately recognize that this was the conclusion she'd come to. It was the only natural response in this sort of situation, given the sort of people they were, after all. With a complicated and delicately balanced diplomatic situation between their two factions, any overt conflict between them would be impossible, it would start a war neither side wanted.

On the other hand, if they became involved with each other, it would simultaneously bring an alliance closer to fruition while also allowing them to subtly pump the other for information to best use to their advantage in negotiating the alliance. He... or she... who figured out the secrets and thought patterns of the other first would then have the advantage when it came time to sit down and hammer things out in a formal treaty. They could not fight with swords, nor were either of them nearly so adept with pointed words and subtle metaphor, the arms of a diplomat. But when it came to a fight of deceit, of lies and half truths and leading misconceptions cloaked in the false fires of a passion that only existed for convenience? Now that was a battlefield they could both thrive on. A battle of wills, a contest of opposed learning and deceiving ability, with a fate worse than any mundane death awaiting the loser... no, the loser of this competition would lose their pride, having been at last outmaneuvered on a field of their own choice by a superior intelligence, beaten at their own game!

Mal saw the moment that Captain Fon came to this realization and accepted it, for that was the moment her eyes met his, dark blue-black orbs boring into and studying pale hazel orbs, her brows lowering just a little as she discovered that his pupils were vertically slit, like those of a cat or other predatory beast, not at all like those of a human. However, she wasn't nearly so discomfited as he'd thought she might be, plainly either this was not her first time encountering a human with animal like characteristics or she was better at hiding her shock now that she wasn't in a embarassed rage. **"I look forward to seeing you pant and moan and writhe beneath me, braids. I'm going to teach you so much about yourself that you never even suspected before."** Mal told her, holding out his hand in a friendly fashion. **"What will you teach me, I wonder?"**

"May the best woman win." Soi Fon eventually replied, unsure what exactly the Duke had said, but understanding the challenge nonetheless. "I will enjoy reducing you to a depraved wretch of a man, drained of all substance and secrets." She accepted his handshake, loosening her muscles in expectation. He did not disappoint her, his hand enveloping and locking onto her own as he yanked her forward and up off her feet as he tossed her completely over his head. Soi Fon flipped and landed gracefully, but was almost instantly forced to duck backwards as his closed fist swept within a hairsbreadth of her nose, as he crowded in with fists and knees flying, his coat flying behind him like a folded pair of wings as he did his best to overwhelm her defenses before she could even fully get them into place. Accepted challenge or not, neither of them was interested in going a single step further until they were satisfied that they really were peers in terms of power after all. It would be meaningless to dominate someone who was palpably weaker than you after all.

Soi Fon could feel her forearm bruise down the the bone as she blocked a hammering punch from Mal that was aimed at shattering her cheekbone. He was physically stronger than her, but she was used to that... spiritual power could compensate for most biological differences between men and women when it came to fighting, except when that power was close to equal, in which case men still tended to be physically more powerful than women. However, women tended to be more agile and quick footed, and Soi Fon would gladly take speed over strength any day! What mattered it if you could pulverise every bone in her body with a single punch, if you could never catch up to her long enough to land said punch? Flash stepping away from Mal's asault before he could pin her back against the ramparts, Soi Fon retreated a few hundred feet, taking their battle down into the Sereitei proper, where she would have a better home field advantage, forcing him to chase after her, which would necessarily require him to spend a trifle more energy than she did, as he was bigger and less aerodynamic.

He appeared in front of her with admirable alacrity though, and Soi Fon upped her estimation of his power and speed, despite the awkward and heavy looking coat. The sweeping side kick he leveled in her direction probably would have pushed her across the street and through a wall, had it landed, but even as he attacked, Soi Fon dived forward, confidently grabbing his ankle with both hands as she handsprung forward, thrusting both of her feet at his jaw, forcing him to bow backwards to avoid the powerful, full body strike. With him off balance thusly, and her hands still clamped to his ankle, Soi Fon flash stepped a few feet to the right, dragging him with her as she hurled him forward and down, looking to bury him in the pavement. His body shimmered and vanished before he touched the ground though, and she felt he reappear behind her, her body already blurring away even as his hand snatched for her throat, and then they were off, both moving at near sonic speeds, appearing in any one place only for the barest fraction of a second at a time, just enough to thrust a leg or fist at where their opponent might have been.

Neither of them were being entirely serious, even with just hand to hand attacks, and they realized this at roughly the same moment. Mal was the first to escalate, holding to his policy to keep Soi Fon reacting rather than proacting. Dodging her latest attempt to kick his head right off his shoulders, he shift stepped behind her with all his speed, catching her just a bit off guard as he swept one arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, grinning as her taut body bent against his in a not uncomfortable way as he grabbed her by the back of her silky black hair and slammed them both into the ground at high speed. However, he was wearing an Ornatus Sancti, which warded his body against most direct impacts, cutting their force significantly. She wore only her robes and the skintight under-uniform beneath, which were rather less protective. Crushing her beneath his not all that considerable weight, Mal pushed off, grinding her face into the dirt and gravel at the bottom of the pit they had cratered into the pavement as he handsprung forward, dust flying from his jacket as it flapped in the wind of his movement. He'd bought himself a second at most... but seconds were... well... an eternity in this kind of battle.

Pushing herself up, spitting dirt from her mouth as she rubbed at an abrasion on her chin and cheek, Soi Fon hurtled out of the pit, to find Mal a few body lengths away, one hand outstretched towards her in a beckoning fashion she first thought was a taunt. "**Magnus, magni, magnite... Castigation 3, Pull!"** Mal completed the simple incantation all in one go, as an invisible force manifested behind Soi Fon and shoved her towards him with the force of a charging warhorse. She tucked into a ball and thrust both palms at the ground, altering her trajectory from purely horizontal to a slowly rising ballistic, but it wasn't enough to put her out of Mal's reach as his doubled fists thrashed down on a path to spike her back down into the ground. However, the only thing his fists struck was her white Captain's haori, as her image vanished from beneath his strike.

"Secret Shihoin Technique 4... Utsusemi." Soi Fon explained smugly, as her real body materialized directly behind the obviously surprised Mal, and she only smirked wider as she slammed her body forward, legs widely braced, and buried an elbow in the pit of his back. The blow was a solid hit, but she was surprised at the sudden resilience the leather coat offered... clearly it was more than just clothing, as it robbed her blow at at least a fifth of its force, perhaps even more, turning a potentially disabling blow into just painful, as Mal was knocked from his feet and sent tumbling for several dozen feet, only stopping when he slammed into and partially through a low wall structure. He scrambled to his feet with annoying speed, and though he seemed a little tender, he was hardly injured seriously, and Soi Fon allowed herself a scowl of annoyance. Incanted Kido was not her strongest suit, though she did all right with Shunko, obviously. Truthfully, her greatest power came with utilizing Suzumebachi, but she couldn't just draw on him, not without taking the fight to a very dangerous new level... she could kill him in two hits if he wasn't as good as she hoped he was!

And then she was in motion once more as she heard him begin another spell, but this time he skipped his incantation and just made a single grabbing motion with his hand, like he was lowering a hat or veil over his face. **"Curse 41, Cataracti!"** Mal announced, utilizing some of the magic the Fey had taught him, lashing out with strands of energy with a malignent tint, a cloud of sorcerous darkness that slammed weightlessly into Soi Fon with no immediate apparent effect, other than a strangled cry of surprise. However, the true effect of the power became obvious a second later when Mal held out an arm and cleanly clotheslined the charging Captain, dumping her head over heels onto the street before she could come to a halt. She blinked her eyes furiously, and grasped her face with one hand, but neither were of any use... her eyes were covered with no cloth or energy, there was nothing to remove. Instead, her eyes themselves had filmed over and become temporarily useless, like an eldery person overwhelmed with cataracts, her vibrant eyes turning pale and milky as she temporarily lost the ability to see. Unincanted, against a person of her spiritual powers, the blindness wouldn't last long, but it was enough to disorient her for a few moments.

Mal buried his fist in her gut in the next moment, cracking the pavement beneath her as the breath whooshed out of her lungs in a heavy gasp, and he grabbed her by the hair as he lifted her to her feet and then slammed her against the wall he had so recently cratered himself. Her eyes were blinking in a more focused fashion already, even as she coughed for breath through a burning chest, and he shifted his grip from her hair to her throat, squeezing to close her windpipe and deny her the oxygen she needed. Her eyes bulged as the magical cataracts faded away, and she lifted a knee and drove it into his midsection hard enough to make him grunt, but not hard enough to loosen his grip as he burrowed in close, accepting her leg strikes as he fended away her clawing arms with his free hand, trusting to his Ornatus to keep him uninjured until she passed out from lack of air. She writhed like an eel in his grip, lips drawn back from her teeth in a bestial snarl as she struggled to break his grip, to no avail... at close quarters, in a grapple, his size and physical strength had the advantage.

Especially with her back to the wall, she had no room to try and maneuver, and as black spots began crowding into her vision, Soi Fon forced herself to focus as she croaked out one of the simplest Kido spells, Thrust, and used the spells energy to knock them both away from the wall, allowing her to twist and lunge backwards, leaving fingerprint bruises on her neck but getting loose all the same. Coughing and retching, she eyed Mal warily as he did the same to her, from across the street. "Okay... we both know we're not supposed to do this..." Soi Fon said in a wheezy but still confident voice.

**"... I won't tell if you won't..."** Mal replied, reading her intent if not her exact words, as her fingers closed around the hilt of her sword. He reached to his belt and grasped the silvery rod of shiny metal, the form Mercurius assumed when in "sheathed" mode.

"Sting all enemies to death, Suzumebachi!" Soi Fon ordered, drawing her Zanpakuto and releasing it in the same motion, sword morphing into the long, needle-like stinger and bracer attached to her middle finger and wrist. She flourished the deceptively small and deadly weapon at the Crusader with a evil little grin. Oh, how she HOPED he would underestimate it, it was so much more fun when the foe never saw it coming...

Mal saw and studied the small piercing implement with interest, it not being a weapon shape he had seen before. Obviously there must be more to her Ascension than was visible to the eye, just as there was to the woman herself. Small, yes, but filled with deadly surprises for the unwary and overconfident. Most likely the weapon hits themselves weren't the real threat, but instead it would be whatever condition or status effect they caused that he would need to watch out for. Well, she had released, it was only polite that he do the same. **"Adapt to all circumstances, Mercurius!"** Mal commanded, spinning his Arma between his hands as it elongated from rod form into a full on six foot metal quarterstaff, which he whirled about himself, letting the sun glint off its mirror-like surface before sweeping it down into a cross block defensive stance.

_A staff, is it? Strange, that's not at all what I would expected from him. Is he more Kido based? A defensive weapon like a staff might make more sense then...___Soi Fon mused, as she studied the Duke of Shadow. She feinted forward, and then her eyes widened considerably, as, without a single word on his part, his staff suddenly seemed to melt away, and then reformed in the next instant, but now it was more like a chain-whip, which lashed at her, and she just barely managed to turn her feint into a sideways scramble! _IT CAN CHANGE FORM? WHAT THE HELL?_ Soi Fon thought furiously, backpedaling to try and avoid the whip, before realizing that she was running out of room in the street to go back. So instead she flash stepped forward, but by the time she reached his position, the whip had become a pair of short, stabbing blades and she found herself forced backwards under a flurry of stabs coming from two directions at once, sparks flying from her bracer as she was forced to interpose it time and again!

Mal sneaked a knee through her defenses while her arm was tied up blocking his daggers, knocking her back a half a step as Mercurius assumed the form of a greatsword, the clash of metal on metal resounding as she was again forced to use her bracer to block the swing, numbing her arm and sliding her several feet to the side. Not only could Mercurius change his form into that of any weapon Mal had ever seen before, his Arma could also adjust his mass and density in real time, to add extra weight to attacks or slip in liquid form around a parrying blade. He savored the shocked expression on Soi Fon's face as she brought down her guard only to find herself staring down a longbow with nocked shaft of silver, Mercurius changing form with each attack to prevent her from having a chance to adjust to any rythym in his attacks. She was faster than he was, but if she could never start a good attack sequence, that hardly mattered.

Even the arrow split into three small throwing daggers in mid shot, one of them even drawing blood from the skin of her shoulder as she knocked aside the other two, not bad considering it had been a point blank shot! The bow became a staff once more, and then a flail, and after that a spear, and then a sword and buckler-shield, and then spiked gauntlets, always shifting, always flowing, never staying the same from heartbeat to heartbeat, and it was clear to Mal that he was beating her, just because she couldn't predict what he was going to do next. She was forced back, step after step, until her back was to the wall once more, her pretty skin bruised and scratched and scraped from numerous near misses, her gauntlet spike weapon form ill suited to fending off a flurry of attacks. Drawing back both hands, pouring Mercurius back and forth between them like a stage magician might do a pack of cards, Mal smiled at her as he ensared her with a sudden shift to a lariet form, strands of silvery metal settling around her form, binding her arms to her sides as his thrusting foot impacted on her sternum and pinned her against the wall.

She glared at him with palpable fury, obviously shamed at be caught off guard and cornered like this. She was evenly lovelier while disheveled and helpless at his mercy, and Mal felt his grin grow... grow until she suddenly matched his look of expectant triumph, as a dense energy field suddenly enveloped her arms and legs and she burst free from Mercurius's grip like the Arma was made of thin twine and not metal. "Shunko." Soi Fon announced, smug once more, her opponent's weapon scattered to the winds, his body perfectly close at hand as arcing bolts of lightning leapt from her bare shoulderblades and atomized the wall behind her. Her stiffened palm strike pounded the Crusader Duke in the solar plexus, bowling him over in a heap as Soi Fon confidently took a step forward, the advantage now entirely hers. Mal rose to his feet, a trifle unsteady after that last strike, which felt like he'd just been kicked in the gut by a pissed off warhorse... he never would have expected such a powerful blow from her! And then he realized that her spike was covered in blood, and that his chest felt warm, and he realized she'd stabbed him too!

However, it wasn't until the black butterfly mark appeared on his chest that Mal truly realized that maybe she'd just been luring him in the whole time, the crafty bitch! And that was meant as the highest sort of compliment! He wasn't sure what her mark did, but his experience with Alyster's brands of justice told him that it wasn't likely to be anything good for him! But what was this attack form? This compression of magical energy to add strength and speed to melee attacks, and armor unprotected limbs... he'd never seen anything like it before! It was unusual for him to encounter something truly unfamiliar on the battlefield... yes, this Captain was going to be a VERY entertaining challenge after all! He was almost giddy with anticipation. Mercurius reformed in his hands, having slithered back across the ground after being burst apart, and Mal had the Arma take the form of a staff once more, that being his original form and the one most suited for a cautious but mobile posture.

They tensed in unison, about to take the fight to the next level, but before they could move, they were interrupted by another spiritual pressure. In the not so near distance, a massive column of yellow tinged energy speared into the sky, blowing away the clouds and momentarily casting the entire city into a warm, yellowish glow. Even from such a distance, the shockwave of the released spiritual energy was enough to stagger them both momentarily. "God damn you, Zaraki, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Soi Fon snapped irritably, as she felt every other Captain in the Sereitei suddenly jerk to attention as Zaraki's full combat power surged into their perceptions like a acidic tidal wave.

**"Holy shit, Vlad, you sure know how to pick em..."** Mal echoed, shaking his head in mingled awe and maybe a little envy. But only a very little. He exchanged glances with Soi Fon, both of them realizing that their battle was at an end now that the whole city was going to be going into a panic. Zaraki and Vladimos having a brawl... that was not desired but not unexpected. If someone saw the two of them having a fight though, that might start something bigger. Mal sighed regretfully and returned Mercurius to rod form, hooking the weapon to his belt as he dusted off his hands. He watched Soi Fon grudgingly return her sword to sword form, and then to its sheath, and then he offered her his hand once more. Suspicious, she still took it, though she did seem a little shocked when he yanked her towards him again, obviously not expecting him to go hostile again.

But he wasn't throwing her again, no, with the physical battle over, it was time to start the battle of wills, and Mal Elkiran always struck first whenever he could. Reeling the startled Soi Fon in, her all but crushed her to his chest as he bent his head down and kissed her squarely on her lips, his fangs cutting upon her tender skin as he slipped his tongue into her mouth when she gasped in shock. He almost died choking on his laughter as he saw her eyes bulge with fury, but she was too flustered by the sudden physical contact to effectively push him away. And maybe she didn't entirely want to, as she certainly could have kneed him in the balls, as he was neglecting his defense at the time, but she refrained. They stared into each other's eyes from this close vantage, and though their motuhs were otherwise occupied, their eyes were smiling... smiling and sharpening a hidden blade at the same time...

"Hey, Captain, I finally captured that fucking Goa..." Vice-Captain Omaeda exclaimed, flash stepping into the street nearby, Dain in goat form slung hogtied over one immense shoulder. It had taken some seriously underhanded tactics to catch the goat off guard... who would have ever thought a scantily clad female ninja would have been so distracting to an animal... but finally, finally the goat was captured and Omaeda's life secure once more! However, that and all other concerns vanished from Omaeda's mind as he beheld Captain Fon not just HUGGING but positively CUDDLING with the Duke of Shadows while they MADE OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET!

For his part, Dain, already working his legs free of his restraints as he contemplated which Curse would best serve him to get this oaf to drop him, was likewise stunned by seeing his Duke and his opposite number so engaged so openly! He'd always admired his boss's hedonistic streak... it was positively Fey-like sometimes. But this was a little much, wasn't it? They'd been here two days, couldn't even speak the local language and this woman was in charge of enemy intelligence services! She should be the person they LEAST wanted to get involved with! Dain traded puzzled glances with Omaeda, forgetting to act like a goat in the heat of the moment. Things were starting to get a little complicated all of a sudden...


End file.
